


The Hunt: Flipside

by AnonGrimm



Series: Equilibrium: of Cruelty and Pain (Sabretooth) [9]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Sabretooth aka Victor Creed (Marvel Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: "Foul" Language, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Apathy, Assisted Suicide, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Depression, Extreme Versions of Self-Harm, F/M, Felching, Feral Behavior, Feral Nature, Geez it's Victor - I should list what isn't in this thing, Graphic Sex, Hate Sex, Heterosexual Sex, Hunters & Hunting, Hunting people as prey, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), I'm serious about the gore, IronTooth (on phone), IronTooth - Freeform, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Misogyny, Necrophilia, Oral Sex, Orgy, Pegging, Prostitution, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Sexism, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Violent Sex, abuse of a corpse, extreme violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2018-12-17 12:18:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 46,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11851434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonGrimm/pseuds/AnonGrimm
Summary: Victor Creed is a busy man, but he likes to stop and smell the roses. Some of his favorite stops involve indulging in what humans call vices, or crimes. Victor calls them instinctual urges. Fighting off a bout of apathy and depression, he visits a brothel in New York City. When Hydra crosses his path afterward, he feels almost compelled to slaughter as many of them as he can. This time, he also steals their prey – Jubilation Lee, the young friend of his mortal enemy. She is the bait for his next hunt – to find and kill the new head of Hydra’s Science Division, known as the Fixer. Jubilee finds herself needing Victor’s help to survive and stay out of Hydra’s clutches. Can she also survive her time with him on his brutal hunt – and his habitual urge to kill the people who are close to Wolverine?





	1. The Devil Within

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not post this story anywhere without the author’s permission. Thanks. Feedback and constructive critiques are welcome, too. Just comment or contact me here: Email: anongrimm@msn.com, Twitter: @MET_Fic, or Tumblr: anongrimm-blog.tumblr.com.
> 
> Sabretooth is a gleeful villain and I don’t plan to redeem him here; if you like evil main characters, enjoy! If not, you might want to re-read the tags... This story involves some taboo subjects, but none of this will be happening to the underage Jubilee, don’t worry.
> 
> TIMELINE: This story occurs after the events in my "Unstoppable" tale, and my Sabretooth series occurs after Victor has escaped the second incarnation of Weapon X, led by Director Malcolm Colcord.
> 
> My Sabretooth is inspired by the version of him when they draw him sexy and write him as an intelligent, though brutal, character. Rather than make this note as long as the story, you can get more details at my personal fanfic blog: mindseyetheatre.net or look up Sabretooth on the Marvel Comics wikis and databases. Thanks for reading! - AnonGrimm (@MET_Fic)

I will keep quiet  
You won’t even know I’m here  
You won’t suspect a thing  
You won’t see me in the mirror  
But I crept into your heart  
You can’t make me disappear  
‘Til I make you

I made myself at home  
In the cobwebs and the lies  
I’m learning all your tricks  
I can hurt you from inside  
I made myself a promise  
You would never see me cry  
‘Til I make you

You’ll never know what hit you  
Won’t see me closing in  
I’m gonna make you suffer  
This hell you put me in  
I’m underneath your skin  
The devil within  
You’ll never know what hit you

I will be here  
When you think you’re all alone  
Seeping through the cracks  
I’m the poison in your bones  
My love is your disease  
I won’t let it set you free  
‘Til I break you

You’ll never know what hit you  
Won’t see me closing in  
I’m gonna make you suffer  
This hell you put me in  
I’m underneath your skin  
The devil within  
You’ll never know what hit you

I tried to be the lover to your nightmare  
Look what you made of me  
Now I’m a heavy burden that you can’t bear  
Look what you made of me  
I’ll make you see

You’ll never know what hit you  
Won’t see me closing in  
I’m gonna make you suffer  
This hell you put me in  
I’m underneath your skin  
The devil within  
You’ll never know what hit you  
The devil within

~ The Devil Within (Digital Daggers, piano version)

*****************************************************************

Nightmares of the tank run by two different incarnations of the Weapon X freaks plagued his sleep. A loud noise woke him with a start only to realize it had been his voice screaming. He sat up in shredded and sweat-soaked bedding and couldn’t remember for a moment where he was. Hyper-senses were little help as vestiges of scents from the tank and the nameless men around it clogged his head as compressing time and the nightmare tried to drag him back in.

Trying to calm huffing breaths, he used his eyes since his nose couldn’t tell up from down.

A relatively quiet split-level and expensive suite surrounded him. The Art Deco décor was reduced to a mere clue, far too common in his private spaces.

He could hear an elevator humming at a distance and a multitude of city sounds beyond that, but a considerable effort had been made to mute noise in the place.

Rising from the wreck of the bed, he ignored his jumbled senses and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows along one side of the bedroom.

_New York, New York._

The view from the Ryu Bank penthouse level topped most other buildings around it, and the expanse of Central Park stretched out beyond the glass. The sun was setting.

_No recent scents ‘sides cleanin’ staff, an’ Obinata hasn’t been in this buildin’ in weeks._

He breathed in deeply to catch older scents, but the alluring musk of Tony was too faded to soothe him.

Scraps of recent itinerary slowly filtered in. He’d left Tony last in Hawaii before heading for London, Oslo, Istanbul, and New Delhi. The schedule had been stretched to include a quick visit to his favorite village in Nepal, and then the whirlwind had started again with Lhasa, Chongqing, Hanoi, Bangkok, Riyadh, and finally Madrid, before flying to JFK.

The contracts had been fulfilled quickly without trouble and New York had been no exception. He had told Obinata to load him up, and the man had done a bang-up job of it, although the point – keeping his mind off Tony – hadn’t really worked.

Roughly two months ago was the last time he had seen the inventor, after safely delivering rescued mini damsels to Hawaii. Iron Man had shown up on the news in various places, but Tony had only called him once. He had answered a few of Victor’s calls, sometimes drunk, and usually turned them into phone sex.

_Was a time, when all I had was mags in a beans box an’ stalkin’ trips, that woulda been more’n I ever expected could happen. Since Malibu, an’ Hawaii, it ain’t ‘nuff._

His hands curled into fists as he remembered talking on the phone with Obinata about the leg of his schedule that was now coming up – while sitting on Tony’s desk. The memory of Tony inside him on it should have burned and filled him with lust. Shaking his head, he pushed the memory away when it didn’t move him.

_Quit moonin’ like a li’l bitch. Work, tha schedule, what’s next? Phoenix, Arizona is next, maybe – maybe not. Don’t like tha man much, an’ it’s nothin’ but a favor, ain’t even got it on tha books. Still not keen t’ go from here down there, an’ all tha way back up t’ catch Vermont an’ Montreal. Obinata pushed Montreal back, so I can still stretch my legs in tha Appalachians in-between if’n I want. Won’t be ‘nuff o’ a break after dealin’ with Paganucci._

He growled at the thought of the favor. That particular client was as obnoxious as he was rich.

_Meanwhile, I gotta day or few here – oh, goodie. Could leave t’night, pick up that other unscheduled job in Nashville on tha way down south, but I already cut Zane loose t’ go play, an’ he’s bloody earned it. Used t’ have a blast tearin’ up this burg. What tha fuck, asshole._

An insidious restlessness took root whenever he was in the Big Apple now. It wasn’t a mystery, but he preferred to pretend to others that it was. Having to be mindful of running into the likes of Chuck Xavier or his flying monkeys didn’t improve his mood, either.

_Had t’ sell that li’l apartment I had after tha Boy Scout an’ tha icicle found it. Can’t never get tha stench o’ X-freaks outta tha carpets._

The contents of that safe house had been moved here – because he didn’t want anyone to go into the brownstone.

Victor stepped closer to the window and frowned at his reflection. His insomnia had gotten worse and when he did sleep, the nightmares tried to tear his tenuous sanity apart.

 _Last decent sleep I got was Hanoi – that tiny Vietnamese woman, Lien, she rang my bell but good, with skills that woulda put a blush on a high-dollar prostitute’s painted cheeks._ _Still got no idea if’n she was even fer hire – not that it matters._

She had kept calling him Kim-ly, which meant ‘Golden Lion’. He tried to smile; the pretty young thing had been fun and utterly fearless. Lien was also the first person to effectively take his mind off Tony since he’d left Malibu. He had wasted no time in getting her placed as the caretaker of his new home in Vietnam.

_Told Tabitha I wasn’t in tha habit o’ stockin’ my safe houses with tasties t’ fuck – so much fer that. Since Malibu, can’t seem t’ get ‘nuff, an’ if’n it ain’t tha quality o’ Tony, it seems quantity is all that works._

Victor looked through his reflection and out to the park. He didn’t want to see or acknowledge the growing apathy in his eyes. He didn’t want to face the truth: somewhere between Bangkok and Riyadh, he had lost all interest in sex, in hunting, even in killing. The hit in Riyadh – he had been going on instinct alone. When he arrived here, he had rushed to the target to get it done, but he couldn’t care about it.

_I could learn t’ hate this city. At least Michel was never here. Is Tabitha in Westchester again? She still owns tha Malibu house I gave ‘er, but ain’t been there fer a bit, or been up t’ tha Yukon house, fer at least two weeks now._

It had been a good while since he had seen her. Being with her was too much, despite what he had promised her.

_Gotta face facts – sooner or later, she might could join tha mutant X-militia again. What tha fuck am I gonna do if’n we cross paths in a nasty dust-up with ‘er teammates?_

Frowning, he glared out at the city beyond Central Park. He knew what he wouldn’t be doing. He’d already hurt her enough.

_If I hadn’t, maybe she wouldn’t have left me. Had no clue how we were gonna end up … an’ dunno how t’ be a ‘good man’. Don’t even know how t’ be a man at all._

Seeing Tabitha at the beach safe house before he took a gamble on going up to Malibu Point had hurt more than he was prepared to cope with.

_At least in tha Yukon with ‘er tha once, I had Perrin t’ keep me sane – more or less._

Tabitha still wanted him, but she didn’t want to be his. She was the second woman capable of bearing his cubs to make that choice.

_Tony’s always busy. After that row we had in ‘is workshop, an’ tha one on tha fishin’ boat, maybe I know now what he really thinks o’ me, an’ it ain’t good. So he’s too busy fer a reason. Add in tha fact he still wants Pepper – if’n he ever gets ‘er, he’s gonna want me ‘round even less._

His gaze turned to his left. Off to the southwest out of sight, far from the bustle surrounding Central Park, his old brownstone near the Chelsea piers and the Cadillac stored there waited – the apartment upstairs repaired and ready. He had done the repairs to the building himself, early on, when he still thought caring about the girl’s fate would fade. Her scent had lingered there, even after the rain had gotten in through the broken windows. He hadn’t been able to tolerate it for long, and had not returned since.

 _Bonnie… I couldn’t let ya die in fear an’ pain. Had no idea we didn’t have time. Spent so much o’ it jackin’ with those crazy scientist-soldier dicks – thought I’d fig out how t’ kill ‘em an’ then we’d have tha time t’ see what we coulda become. When ya were gone … wish sometimes those undead assholes coulda beaten me. Woulda spared me a shit-ton o’ grief._ He growled again. _Wish in one hand, shit in tha other, see which one gets full tha first._

Victor had avoided the brothel he owned upstate for the same reason – Bonnie’s scent would still be there. He’d had his room sealed to make sure of that. While in Istanbul, via phone sex afterglow, Tony had promised to do better about answering his calls and texts; for the last month, his track record was about the same as it often was – radio silence.

_Returnin’ t’ Malibu t’ find ‘im like a pathetic whipped cur is flat outta tha question. Got stuck behind tha eight-ball on that. I’m just an exotic toy. A weak-ass bitch toy, t’ boot, if’n he so much as whistles… He don’t want me, though – just scratchin’ an itch. Lotta that goin’ ‘round._

Telling himself it was only for a moment, he let the despair in – knowing it might not leave. It was his first friend, his oldest lover, and at times his closest companion. Giving in to it felt almost good.

_Who says ya can’t go home again?_

Emotions he’d hoped to tear out of his chest persisted. He was surrounded by places he couldn’t cope with returning to, haunted by those who were beyond his reach. It didn’t really matter in the end whether they were dead or had just walked away.

Claws curled out of his fingers and sliced into his hands as the fists clenched tighter. Blood dripped before it spilled. Retracting the claws, he pressed his hands to the glass to mark it with bloody dripping prints, but even the buzz of the healing felt dull, weak.

 _Chased away by ghosts … ladies an’ gent, ya gutted me – a man who can’t fuckin’ die._ The thought swept in with the crushing loss: _I could try…_

Victor looked straight down through the glass, imagining the plummet from that height. With a hiss, he let his forehead touch the glass.

_Don’t bother, ya fuckin’ idiot; ya can’t even break bones._

He’d been thrown out of a plane over the ocean before. He knew he could drown, but his body always fought. Even injured – if he was bleeding, the sharks would come. They provided protein and he lived to swim to shore, or to claw his way up the side of a ship.

_Tha inner beastie wants t’ live. Wish ya’d teach that trick t’ me, ya fuzzy asshole._

He didn’t feel hungry, couldn’t feel the urge to hunt, and even the instinct to rut had left him. It wasn’t a problem of not knowing what he wanted – it was a problem of not wanting anything.

Growling, he went to snatch his phone from the nightstand, wiping blood from healed hands onto the sheets before he picked it up. _Work, focus on that. Maybe somethin’ new came in. I can do more…_

He wandered back to the window and sank down to sit in front of it under the scarlet handprints as he checked messages. There weren’t many … and none of them were from Tony.

_Should drop it, but dunno how. Keep comin’ back t’ tha fact that one day he’ll be gone, but right now ... even if he don’t care ‘bout me, if’n he never did … he’s still out there._

Before he could talk himself out of it, he tapped out a text with the side of one finger, growling when it sent before he was ready.

With a grunt, he stretched out to lie on his side and watched the sun get swallowed up. The night, never truly dark to him, tried to distract him and lure him out. Yet thoughts of running in the park and finding things to slaughter didn’t entice him.

 _What real prey is there, homeless an’ helpless? Drug addicts?_ Victor sneered. _May as well see what mindless shit is on TV. I’d settle fer porn but who cares? Can’t smell tha pussy in tha tube an’ they don’t bleed ‘em._

His phone beeped, and he startled and snarled. He hadn’t expected an answer. It was likely Obinata, checking to see if he had landed in New York. He looked at the screen, intending to ignore the banker’s message.

Tony’s name was there.

Victor hadn’t even remembered what he was trying to send to the man until he saw Tony’s reply, starting off by asking if he had finally managed to get drunk.

Closing his eyes tight, he worked to control his breathing as it quickened. Managing a deep breath, he tried to force his lips into a smile as a tentative relief washed over him. _Leave it t’ that bastard t’ make fun o’ my typin’. He knows I got fat fingers on a tiny fuckin’ phone._ Then the last line made him hold his breath: ‘Can you talk?’

Victor didn’t bother to reply. Rolling onto his back, he switched out of texts and hit his favorite speed dial. The breezy nothing-is-wrong mask fit right into place – he was getting used to it.

“Where ya at?”

“Somewhere in Pakistan … I think. I’d hate to pronounce the place behind a podium with people staring at me. God, I’m tired. Where are you?”

Victor hesitated as he sank into the bright and fast-talking voice of Tony Stark – but he didn’t care if needing it made him weak; the voice, speaking to him alone, was a lifeline.

“Big Apple. Pakistan ain’t near as much fun. Fly over here.”

“Is this a booty call?” His tone was amused, but there was another note in it Victor couldn’t define.

“Maybe... Would that work?”

“You are adorable. It might, but I can’t. You own a jet – several, I imagine.”

“Can’t, gotta go t’ Brazil in a coupla days, by way o’ Montreal; Middle East detours can really monkey wrench my schedule.”

He couldn’t run over there because Tony Stark whistled for him ... even if he wanted to – or needed to.

“Montreal isn’t on the way to Brazil, you realize. Itinerary from Hell, worse than mine. Well … so much for that.” There was a pause but he couldn’t sort out the sounds around the man. “I’d ask what you’re wearing and coax you into purring and growling into the phone for me, but I have to go, killer. People to help, bad guys to stop, you know the drill – my drill, anyway.”

Victor rumbled a purr at him just to keep him on the call longer.

“You are cruel and utterly unfair.”

He knew what Tony wanted – what he kept wanting. He only talked to him to move things in that direction – but he wouldn’t meet. He’d probably only offered knowing Victor couldn’t agree.

“Ain’t wearin’ zip. Just slide yer hand in an’ touch yer dick fer me, Tony.”

“Can’t slide, in the suit. Listen, honey, I have to bail – where are you after Brazil? Europe?”

Swallowing his pride, he rolled the dice. “Where do ya want me t’ be?”

“Damn it – Victor, I’m sorry, time to fly. Beat that thing to my picture and text me later to tell me how good I was, okay?”

Victor started to answer but the call was disconnected. He growled and switched over to the photo album titled STARK. His current favorite picture was of the man asleep on his back in their rumpled resort bed in Hawaii, with the sweat-damp sheet barely covering his hips. Scooting the phone closer, he curled around it and closed his eyes. Exhaustion pulled him down.

For the second time, not even half an hour later, he woke in a sweat from another horrid nightmare. With a hiss, he scooped up his phone, tossed it on the bed and headed to the bathroom to shower. After washing away the grime of travel, he thought of Tony and tried to jack his cock, but Tony wasn’t there and ghosts weren’t enough.

_Go out, idiot – make somethin’ either bleed or come. Ya don’t want shit? Who cares._

Traveling light never mattered when he landed in a safe house or one of these penthouses – he always had his own space and kept plenty of clothes and such in each of them.

Hardly looking at what he grabbed to wear, he contained the slightly damp mop in a thick braid and sat to stomp into his boots.

On his way out, he snagged the black satchel he’d packed with half of his pay from the last job. As he left the Ryu Bank skyscraper, he ignored the armed security guards who nodded to him. Using his thumbprint on the door scanner, he stepped out into the muggy and sweltering August night.

 _Hot summer night, storm clouds in tha air,_ he recited to himself, calling up the old rock song by the Canadian band Honeymoon Suite. _My eyes are a li’l heavy, I’m feelin’ in tha past tense, I’m hardly aware. I don’t want ya on tha phone, don’t ya play good girl with me. Why must I always say it again? I gotta new girl now, an’ she’s a lot like ya…_

~ ~ ~

Madam Barassi’s place was still where he had left it. That was a feat in a city that was always changing. It had been a long time, but he had confidence that he was a memorable customer.

The moment he opened the door, an Italian woman now older than he remembered in a stylish yellow dress approached him. The knowing smile on her lips hadn’t changed a bit. Her fingers poised on the marble top of a side table in the foyer.

“How many of my girls do you want, Mr. Creed?”

Victor tossed the satchel he carried down onto the narrow table with the zipper open. Several bricks of formerly neatly stacked and wrapped cash peeked out of it. “All o’ ‘em, ‘til I’m done. Better be at least four t’ start with. Anybody needs t’ tap out, she can send me a fresh replacement.”

Madam Barassi stared at the bag and then met his gaze. “Girls?” she addressed the ones who were waiting in the parlor. “You heard the gentleman. The red room – and please do make me proud.”

He ended up with six to start with and intended to waste no time on bullshit like talking or taking it slow.

They were smart enough to strip as they entered the garishly decorated suite, or he would have ripped the foolish costumes of enticement off them. He hadn’t come here to seduce or to make them like him; men who sought to have a whore like them were pathetic and weak. He’d come to fuck and they were paid very well to shut up and be fucked.

Yet the miasma of apathy hadn’t left him, and watching the naked flesh around him as they moved to the bed did not spark his heat. The beast within was restless – he wanted his mate, not these females who were not ready to breed.

 _Fuck ya, Puss in Boots,_ he told his feral side. _This ain’t tha savanna, Stark ain’t yer damn mate, an’ these rented cunts’re mine, ready t’ breed or not._

Growling, he pulled his shirt off and opened his belt and buttonfly. Sitting in a large armchair to kick off his boots and socks, he left his long hair bound in its braid. Standing and dropping the jeans, he stepped out of them.

“C’mere,” he ordered the pretty olive-skinned one, the one with black hair. She moved to obey, somewhere between swift and lithe, and stood in front of him. “Get down there an’ suck it.”

She did so without comment and showed no fear, even though he’d never seen her before. All of them were new to him; he hadn’t been back here in almost a decade. A few on the bed were nervous, their anxiety spiking when he’d dropped his jeans.

 _Wake up, ya bleedin’ tool,_ he thought to his dick, his pointed ears pinning down. _Gonna make ya care in a minute._

He gripped her wrist in one hand and set his golden furry balls on her palm. His other hand fisted in her hair and pulled it slightly.

“Squeeze,” he told her. “Harder.” He hissed when she got the idea and really went for it. The pain crawled up his nerves and began to fire his lust. His cock hardened in her mouth and she had to back off and readjust her technique.

Victor pulled her head up off it and smirked down at her. When he released her, he reached down and hoisted her by the waist to cart her off to the rest of them on the bed like a ragdoll.

He fell over the redhead first, claws retracting just as he reached for her heavy breasts. The moment he entered her, he knew it would take more.

The first girl reached for his balls again and squeezed and that was better. Another one got inventive and scratched her nails down his back as he began to thrust.

They inspired his heat at last as the others moved in and when he reached for the next and fucked into her, he stopped looking at their faces.

Powders and perfumes were soon overwhelmed by sweat. As the cloying smell of sex and cum began to be layered around him, he didn’t concern himself with their pleasure at first. The urge to suck pussy, denied, became almost as strong as the ache in his fingers to let his claws taste their flesh.

“Here,” a blonde offered, “teeth like that, you must love to bite.”

“Love t’ kill, li’l girl,” he told her in a low rasping voice.

The look she gave him, staring into his eyes, reminded him of his reflection in the glass.

“Do what you want,” she shot back, her blue eyes shining with the challenge.

“Angel…” another woman warned her, fear riding the word.

It was just the thing that was missing: the fear … and the blood.

He wanted to tear her throat out instantly. The thought that he could probably claim to have paid the madam more than enough for the loss knocked around in his blood-soaked brain.

A brunette moved in. “Right here,” she said, fingers stroking the blonde’s white flesh at the join of neck and shoulder. “You look like a man who knows what he wants.”

Victor didn’t hesitate to drop his jaw; he set the fangs and allowed them to slide in. His tongue caught the blood and the explosion of the smell and taste of it made his body buck. He wasn’t sure which one of them he was fucking as his thrusts grew rough.

A dual cry from two throats sounded: the blonde, getting off on his bite, and who turned out to be an exotic dark-skinned beauty under him coming hard around his cock. He pulled his fangs free and closed his mouth on the bleeding flesh, sucking at it, swallowing the blood, and then licking at the wounds until the bleeding stopped.

Flesh touched him and he turned his head to see a firm, round ass. He withdrew and sank into it, not thinking to open the way – only to find it ready for him. He didn’t look up to see which one it was attached to as he began to thrust and when he came again, he groaned.

The next one had his cum smeared over her stomach and he flattened his tongue to lick it up. Moving higher, he made her cry out with pleasure when the little barbs on his tongue stroked over her breasts.

One of them straddled the back of his thigh and began to rub herself against him, trying to make herself come. He didn’t care what they did soon enough. His fur was damp in places and sticky in others as he fucked each one, barely noticing when they changed. Any hole within reach, he needed to see it dripping with cum.

The first new one he did notice was pulled in and impaled. When he filled her with seed, he picked her up, shifted and rolled, and set her on his face.

“Don’t move,” he said, a growl chasing the words. “Ya move an’ tha fangs’ll slice ya up.”

His long tongue shoved up and in and his lips suckled. Two others helped hold her still when she began to writhe and tried not to buck her hips. Beyond them, another one had stuffed his cock in her mouth and easily got it hard again. A hot, tight sheath enveloped it, and his growl modulated back into lust.

Victor began to drown in it and as soon as the pussy left his face, another straddled it. When he finally threw them off to rise and turn, he found the black-haired one with olive skin and sank into her. Fingers pinched his scrotum and then the bent knuckle of a finger kneaded into the skin of his taint, making the balls tighten. Tongues touched – they were licking the salty sweat from his skin and fur. A snap of plastic and burst of lube scent readied the next human toy before he was finished with the last; in time, even the scents blurred.

For the scant trio of minutes his body needed to be ready again, he buried his face in the next snatch and licked and sucked until they writhed and moaned. They were excited now and eager to please, their scents more or less proof they weren’t faking, but he didn’t care if they were or not – as long as they held still and submitted when required to.

Unable to get him talking further, they spoke to each other, urging on the ones who began to tire to try and stay a little longer.

He lost count of them eventually, vaguely aware that there were nine at one point. With so many hands touching him at once and any orifice they had his for the taking, it became a fog of sensory overload.

Sinking into another hole, unsure at first what sort of hole it was, he smelled an expensive lube and something large made of rubber on the huge bed beside him. Turning his head to look, he realized they were using dildos on each other to open them up before he got there.

Victor snarled and snatched the wrist of the girl who was holding a foot of bobbing green rubber. “In me, now,” he ordered.

Expecting to be obeyed, he went back to fucking the one underneath him. Slick fingers touched his hole first, pressing in gentle and slow.

“Ain’t made o’ glass, girl, an’ it won’t open much – just get t’ it.”

He snarled when she pushed it in, instinct tearing at him to kill, to throw off what sought to dominate him. It was delicious to fight that, to still claws and dripping fangs. He leaned down, his forehead on the chest of the girl beneath him, and drowned in the sensations of filling, of being filled.

When he felt a tug on his hair, he lifted his head and the scent of rubber flared under his nose as a toy was pressed to his lips. Smirking, he opened his mouth and allowed her to slide it in.

“Oh my God,” a voice over his shoulder spoke. “I think I’m in love. Look at him ... those claws... Fuck, I’m next, move.”

Going by scent, the speaker was soon lying beside his current one – it was the blonde, who bore his raw marks. Gripping the dildo fucking his mouth with the front teeth, the few blunt ones he had, he took it with him when he withdrew, shifted, and sank into her slick cunt. He’d fucked her already, a few times, and feeling his dick thrust in the mess of his seed inside her ramped his pulse up another notch.

The dildo twins got back to work when he did. The one behind removed hers and he snarled at her, but then a bigger one began to shove in with some decent force behind it. The smell of a leather harness told him why. He growled around the rubber shaft to chase away memories he didn’t want.

Allowing himself to drift out of conscious thought to avoid ghosts, he sucked on the rubber toy, keeping his teeth from shredding it. His last real thought was of a vague disappointment that the dildos couldn’t fill his throat and ass with warm urgent cum.

~ ~ ~

The scent and sound of hot running water woke him. The large Jacuzzi tub set into the floor on the other side of the open room was in sight when he cracked one eye open. The brunette who had encouraged him to bite was in the tub with the black-haired girl who had first sucked him off. He turned his head to watch them kiss and caress each other. The only person in the bed with him woke under his arm. He had pulled her in close and fallen asleep with his face in her blonde hair.

Glancing down, he winced to see blue eyes staring up at him. Shifting his weight, he moved to lick the bite marks in her flesh.

“You can do it again, if you want,” she whispered.

Victor growled over her punctured skin and let the fangs slice into the same wounds, slow and easy. Biting in a little deeper, he lapped and sucked at her blood again. Her arms held him, her pelvis nudging at his thigh.

He removed his fangs. One large hand rolled her to her back and he entered her, cock and fangs at once. When he came, he fell still but stayed inside. He sucked and swallowed her blood, aware the two in the tub were watching. As soon as he could, he began to thrust again, his mouth and tongue pressing against the wounds.

Shuddering to a stop, he withdrew, moved down, and began to suck and lick her pussy clean as she gasped and writhed.

He heard the other two as their breath came short, and his ears pinned in irritation. He was no longer in a sharing mood. Looking up at them, he growled.

“Out,” he ordered.

As they began to obey, not bothering to pick up any of the clothing on the floor or even grabbing towels, they gave the blonde one last long look before heading for the door.

“Tell Madam Barassi that this one’s mine.”

“Angel…?” the black-haired girl whispered, the scent of fear growing strong from her.

Victor snarled at them, one clawed hand settling over the blonde’s hip. For a brief moment, he wanted to rise and kill the watchers before going back to the caught prey.

“Hush,” the brunette admonished her friend as she ushered her out first. “Yes, Mr. Creed, I’ll tell her. We love you, Angel…”

When the door shut, Victor got up and picked her up. He carried her pressed against his chest and stepped down into the tub. Sitting her on the ledge with her legs in the water, his hands held her face as he kissed her. Blood burst in his mouth when her exploring tongue was cut on the serrated inside edge of a lower fang.

“Gotta be careful in there.” He watched her, scenting her. Living breathing prey, she sparked a predatory excitement that had been missing for far too long.

He knew his brain was a mess of crossed wires, wanting to mate what he also wanted to kill – willing to risk death for some, eager to eat others. He didn’t care. She was marked and full of his spunk. She had made him want, and that was all that mattered. Her blood in his mouth, throat, and belly curled into hunger – and she wanted to die.

Victor broke the bloody kiss and licked his tongue up her throat. It slowly grew more difficult to hold the beast in check. The man he tried to be had fucked her, but she wasn’t his mate. To the beast, she was food.

He tried to push it back, but the bright lure of want – any sort of want – was too strong.

“Angel…” he murmured over the jugular vein that pulsed beneath his lips.

“M-Marie,” she whispered. Her hands were pressed to his chest, her thumbs stroking the fur there. “Would you? End it? I’ve tried, but…”

“Tell me why,” he urged her, “or I’ll leave ya here t’ keep on with this.”

“This … is all I knew to do. I can’t live this way, as I am. The nightmares, the pain…”

“Who was it?”

“My brother, and … my father…” She began to cry.

Victor lifted his head and kissed the tears away. “When?”

“I was little…”

“They still breathin’?”

“My father lives in Brooklyn. I don’t know where my brother is.”

“Names.”

“Gary Dearman. Louis Dearman. Please, the moment I saw you… Please…”

“Hush, now...” Kissing her, he let the taste of her bloody tongue spark his heat fresh. “How’d ya want it?” he asked, as he pulled her hips forward. He pushed inside before she could answer and fucked her with a lazy pace.

“Here, with you. Can you do it … without pain?”

“Every way I kill is pain. It can be quick.”

He nuzzled into her hair against the smooth, unbroken skin on that side of her neck. His thrusts remained easy. She would expect him to wait until after he came. He didn’t need to wait.

 _Fast – without tha chance fer fear or too much pain. Just like ‘er…_ Her golden hair and blue eyes full of tears hurt him. _Ain’t ‘er an’ ya need t’ rip that outta yer damn head. That one is dead – an’ so’s this one._

She clung to him harder. “You feel so good.”

“Marie … I’m hungry, but I feel … empty. Be what I need…”

She drew in a deep breath as his jaw began to drop. “Yes…”

Darting his head down, the fangs stabbed into her neck, shoulder, and back. She tried to scream but only choked on her own blood as the bite severed the trachea, carotid, and jugular at once. The body convulsed in his grip.

Growling into the bite as the water turned red, he felt the blood run over his hand at her back. His other hand squeezed her breasts, smearing more blood as his body thrust harder inside her.

She was still as he drank the blood that ran down his throat. When it stopped flowing, he gently lowered her body to the tiles around the sunken tub and gripped the legs. His hips slapped against her as he watched the light fade from those wide blue eyes. Each stroke began to move the unresistant body.

He slowed again, leaning in to lap at the blood that had spilled down between the breasts onto the flat stomach. Reaching up, he pressed his palm against her chest between the breasts, though he could hear that the heart had stopped. The stillness of her chest made his balls draw up tight until he came, his back arching as he roared with the release.

The high of it was exquisite, but he knew he couldn’t linger. Breathing slowing down, he pulled out. Kneeling on the floor of the tub, his mouth went to work to lick and lap at her folds and suck his seed from the body. When he rose, he lifted his hands as the claws slid out.

Practiced at where to cut the torso to get what he wanted, Victor’s claws severed the selected sweetmeats quickly. Piercing each of them in turn, he brought them up one by one to shear them into small pieces behind his fangs before swallowing the rich meat.

A single claw sliced through the sterum. Fingers pulling, he cracked it open enough to get at her battered heart.

_No more pain, darlin’. No more ghosts or nightmares. I envy ya._

He consumed it as he watched the stillness of death compose her limbs.

When he was sated, he climbed out of the tub onto his knees at the side of the corpse. Clawed fingers were careful not to cut the pretty face as he brushed the hair away.

Leaning down, he pressed a gentle bloody kiss to her cooling lips. It gave the semblance of rich scarlet life there as the skin grew pale on the surface and livid underneath where the remaining blood gathered, pulled down without a living heart to give it purpose.

She was even more beautiful this way: all lines of grief smoothed from her face, the shadows of pain driven from slowly clouding eyes.

As he watched her, transformed by his gift, her gift to him quickened in his veins and beat with fierce life in his chest.

“I guess that was exactly what we both needed. Ya sleep now, darlin’…”

With a gentle push, he slid her into the tub. The pink-tinged water slopped over the edge onto the tiles.

The body floated briefly until the air in the lungs was replaced with water. Her hair moved, giving a last illusion of life as she began to sink.

_Wonder if’n she picked tha name Angel or ended up called that cuz o’ ‘er sweet face? Don’t matter now. Marie Dearman becomes my own Ophelia..._

Victor rose and turned all the towels red. He dressed slowly, sitting to put on his boots. He hadn’t noticed much of the intense red velvet décor in the suite the night before. Even the carpet was red before it was broken by the white tiles of the open bathroom.

 _That’s a bit much. At least now tha bathroom matches it better._ He took a piss in the toilet, which was also exposed to the whole room, and shook his head. _Humans an’ their li’l potty games… T’ each their own, I ‘spose._

He pulled his Misfits t-shirt on, patted his jeans pockets for wallet and phone, and left the suite.

Not a soul was in sight downstairs until Madam Barassi appeared from her study and leaned in the doorway. He had made no effort to hide anything – she knew what she would find and knew how to handle it.

“We square?” he asked her.

“Yes, Mr. Creed.”

He nodded, opened her front door, and squinted in the early morning sunlight. Walking down the street, he stopped a man with one hand on his shoulder and took his Ray-Ban sunglasses right off his face. One look at him, and the man said nothing. He stumbled away when he was released, and hurried off.

_Ain’t gotta leave yet. I wonder if that Thai massage place is still down here._

The temptation to go see if the runt was around up in Westchester came and went. Odds were, he wouldn’t be but the rest would.

_Massage it is, if’n it’s there._

~ ~ ~

Victor had the Ryu Bank’s transport service send him a car and driver during his massage. Then he had called Shaul Yahalom, his lawyer – the telepathic one. He gave the man some homework, and by the time he got into the back of the silver Bentley, his driver had the address of one Mr. Gary Dearman in Brooklyn. When brother Louis was found, Shaul would text him the information.

“Are you ready to start, sir?” the driver asked.

Small and wiry with dark hair, Raul Velasco wasn’t much to look at, but he was one of the best drivers they had. No tacked-on family hindered the hours he was willing to work, and being on call almost constantly for the New York bank brass earned him a pretty bit of coin.

“I am. Question is – is Dearman ready?”

Raul smiled at the rearview mirror at him and got going. “I’d bet not.”

Victor watched the Brooklyn Bridge go by in the sunlight for once. They were both quiet on the drive, and he spent the time replaying in his head every word Tony had said to him on that last text and call.

_Guess goin’ from near zero, he’s probly callin’ this progress on answerin’ me. Maybe it won’t be months before he does it again – if he does._

The house on Hudson Avenue in the Vinegar Hill neighborhood of Brooklyn was old. The sloping Belgian-block street in front of it nearly made Victor purr. He was sick of modern concrete and asphalt everywhere he went.

His target destination was one of a row of diminutive pre-Civil War brick and frame houses. The ground floors sported old storefronts, but they all appeared to be curtained for privacy and used as part of the residences. The street and buildings looked like a drowsy slice of time left behind by the modern world.

Before he got out of the car, he texted Obinata and asked him to see about buying the place – he had a hunch it was about to be on the market. Then he met the patient gaze of the driver in the rearview mirror.

“Head out t’ tha Brooklyn Navy Yard; I’ll find ya there. If’n I don’t show by dark, go home.”

“Yes, sir.”

Climbing out, he walked away down the street until the car disappeared, driving east. Circling back, he went up to his future new safe house and knocked.

It nearly always surprised him how normal they looked. The man who opened the door could have been anyone, but he wasn’t; he was Victor’s favorite flavor of chew toy.

One look at him, and the skinny aging bastard tried to slam the door.

Victor snarled and slashed the security chain, shoving the door open. He caught the man by the throat and forced him back as he entered the house, shutting the door quietly behind him.

“Hiya, Gary. Yer daughter Marie says ‘fuck off’.”

His hand squeezed as the claws pierced flesh. Without a thought, as if he were crushing a bug, he increased the pressure until the prey quit wiggling. He carried it, dangling from his hand, and dropped it in the nearest bathtub. It made a satisfying clanging thump.

“One down, one t’ go.”

About to explore the place, he paused as a wicked thought crept into his head.

“Louis might could find out he’s owed some o’ pop’s money. Nothin’ like a li’l ol’ fashioned greed t’ get tha family t’gether.” Chuckling, he took his phone out and called the lawyer. “Lure ‘im in with news that ‘is daddy dropped dead – technically, he just did. There’s a prob with tha inheritance, what a shame. Play Mad Libs with tha rest. If’n either o’ these rot kiddy-diddlers has got any cash, I want it t’ go t’ tha usual fund fer survivors. Between ya an’ Obinata, oughta be cake. Got it?”

“I do. Is this one you wish to deal with yourself?”

“Yeah, but have tha bastard collected an’ shipped – he can be my entertainment when I land in Vermont.”

“Are we still on for dinner in Montreal, on the new date and time?”

“Make it Toqué an’ I’m there with bells on.”

“Consider it done, Mr. Creed.”

It wouldn’t take long until the baited hook was found by the fish. He indulged himself and explored the house before locking up and leaving to get to the car in time. Obinata would send a team in for the usual body discovery and police calling game – it was one of their most common ways of acquiring his properties.

As he was driven back over the bridge, he sucked the sheen of blood from the claws that had pierced the pedophile’s neck.

Impulse swayed him as they left the bridge behind. Vinegar Hill had woken up his taste for things that were older than he was.

“Raul, drop me at tha Guggenheim Museum, then ya can go. Won’t need ya after that. I’m in town fer a coupla days, though, so keep yer ears peeled.”

He spun the wheel and changed course so skillfully that the car didn’t rock and nobody honked at them. “Of course, sir.”

On the sidewalk in front of the giant white Franklin Lloyd Wright coffee cup that everyone else thought was a marvel of modern architecture, Victor frowned and headed in. He was given a wide berth as he made his way up the spiral building.

A Picasso had captured his attention when he felt the air move beside him. Obinata’s subtle cologne made him smile, but he didn’t turn to face his short Japanese partner.

“T’ what do I owe tha honor?”

With hands behind his back, the other mutant stood still in an impeccable navy bespoke suit and admired the painting with him.

“I have heard a rumor and discovered it to be fact.”

“Clooney really is an alien? Nobody’s that suave naturally.”

“The Fixer is in town, with a group of Hydra operatives along for the outing.”

“Yer shittin’ me.” Victor turned to face him with a grin stretching wide. “I been sniffin’ fer that jackass all over tha fuckin’ globe, an’ he just shows up here like free candy?”

“It appears so. No word yet on why they are here.”

“Obvs, it’s cuz I’m livin’ right. Just rewards an’ all.”

“He does not seem to have ordered any more assassins to target Stark.” Obinata held up a hand to halt Victor’s retort. “Yet his new post as Head of the Science Division of Hydra certainly warrants your attention.”

“How many troops has he got?”

“Unknown. He was spotted with ten.”

“‘Nuff t’ mean he’s got biz in town. Well, don’t gotta get me nothin’ fer Christmas – yer real early but this works. Told Tony I’d slit that useless twat. Were any sneaky fuckers like tha late Osiris spotted with ‘im, or just tha usual grunt stormtroopers?”

“Only troopers, thus far. They were spotted on the East Side of Midtown Manhattan this afternoon, along 42nd Street, in plainclothes – but their uniforms could have been hidden underneath. I must go.” He turned to face Victor and bowed. Victor returned it. “Good hunting, Creed-san. I am sure of your success.”

He popped out before Victor could reply. Grabbing his phone from his pocket, he fired off a short text to Tony: ‘Gotta line on tha Fixer here in NYC.’ Heading out to return to his suite at the bank, he wasn’t surprised when he didn’t get a reply.

~ ~ ~

Despite his flippant confidence with Obinata, Victor knew taking on Hydra could be a dirty business. They were like roaches – heavily armed roaches. Paul Norbert Ebersol a.k.a. the Fixer had been spotted with ten troopers, but that didn’t mean there weren’t more around.

He had room service send up a platter of nearly raw steaks from the fancy steakhouse they kept on the ground floor. Since he had others of the Misfits t-shirt he was wearing, he kept it on, but left the boots on the floor. After eating the meat, he placed his wallet and phone in the suite’s safe.

The long braid was wound into a bun at the back of his head and secured. None of the bits and beads currently in the loose hair around his face mattered much, in case they got shot off.

Pausing to look around, he stared at the dried blood handprints on the window. Sneering at them and the weakness they represented, he left them to confound the cleaning woman, wondering how long she would fret over whether or not he wanted them wiped off.

When he was ready, he went up to the roof access door and stalked out across the helipad. The heat reminded him of jungles he had prowled. The concrete jungle around him now wasn’t all that different.

_This is gonna be sweet._

With that thought, he jumped from the edge of his building and caught the next one in his claws. Before long, the bank was in the distance and the hunt had begun.

~ ~ ~

At the intersection of 42nd Street and Lexington Avenue in the Turtle Bay neighborhood, the Art Deco-style Chrysler Building loomed over the skyline. Climbing it to straddle one of the gargoyles at its corners was practically a hobby of his. He could see, hear, and smell for quite a ways. Nothing much was going on, until the sun began to set; Victor wasn’t surprised – roaches crept out after dark.

His head swerved the moment they popped and found the spray of fireworks bursting out down Lexington Avenue.

 _Well, that counts as weird. August’s damn late fer that shit, an’ tha city wouldn’t authorize it willy-nilly._ Then the breeze shifted and a few new scents surprised him. A grin stretched wide as he crouched to jump. _Looks like my roaches are after a special bit o’ prey. This just gets better an’ better._

Lining up as the prey came closer, he leaped from the gargoyle and plummeted to a lower level of the skyscraper, landing without a sound.

As luck would have it, the agile prey leaped up by grabbing a lamppost and swung onto the building’s overhang that protected the entrance. Just as she shot off more explosive plasmoids at the Hydra troopers, Victor crashed down behind her, denting the overhang. Snagging her up with an arm around her waist, he jumped higher again in a heartbeat, hauling her with him. The scream hurt his pinned ears and the fireworks momentarily blinded him, but he just shut his eyes and climbed by smell and hearing alone.

Gaining the lower level roof again, he loped around the first corner before jumping up to climb the next building. By the time he dropped her onto another rooftop in front of him, he had eluded her pursuers – for a time.

She had hit on her hands and knees, but twisted to her back fast. Glaring down at her as her hands lifted to fight, her scent laden with thick shock and fear, he snarled at her.

“Throw one more bloody paff at me, ya li’l shit, an’ I’ll be pickin’ my teeth with yer broken femur, capiche?”

Jubilation Lee gulped as her hands, still raised, fisted. “Yes, sir.”

“Why’re they after ya?”

“No clue! I was just out window shopping –”

“Alone? No X-babysitters?”

“Uh...”

Victor flashed claws at her.

“No, alone! I can get out of your hair, get on home … sorry to bother –”

“Shut it.”

“Shutting it.”

“They’re comin’. We gotta go t’ ground.”

“Um, we?”

Victor grinned down at her as a plan formed in his head and made him chuckle. “Yup – we.” He lunged down at her as she threw her arms up to protect her face.

“Wait!”

He didn’t wait.

 

 

 

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 **Author’s Note:** I borrowed the name “Dearman” from someone who irritated the crap out of me in real life – having Victor kill him was good therapy. Back in my story _Redemption_ , Tabitha said Jubilee was kind to her and called her the only X-man she would miss. Because of that, Victor decides to save her even though her closeness to Logan makes him want to kill her. As readers of my series already know, Bonnie is from the Sabretooth limited series comic book story, _Mary Shelley Overdrive_. Michel is Victor’s male French mate from his teen days in Canada and my original invention. Someday, I plan to write their story and the tale of Victor’s origins.

“Lien” means “lotus”. Kim-ly means “Golden Lion”, and is technically a female name, but as there is a male actor with this name, I figure Lien can get away with calling Victor this. Ophelia is of course from William Shakespeare’s play, _Hamlet_. Hamlet’s would-be lady love goes mad after Hamlet kills her father, and drowns herself. Her brother mourns for her. Victor told Tabitha that he “only reads _MacBeth_ ”, but clearly he likes all of the plays, since he also uses _Romeo and Juliet_ as a reference when talking to Tabitha. Mad Libs are game on a paper tablet where funny stories were created by filling in blanks with the requested type of word: noun, verb, adjective, etc. The actor George Clooney belongs to himself. Jubilee has sort of been a teen forever, but in this timeline, she’s still a teen with mutant powers.

I decided to go ahead and post this, but I really need to update my other WIP fics before I finish chapter two. Thanks for your patience and thanks for reading! The sequel to this one will go back to hands-on IronTooth, my unrepentant OTP. - AnonGrimm (@MET_Fic)

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	2. The Most Dangerous Game

The rabbit and the wolf when they decided to leave  
The rabbit and the wolf no longer hiding the seed  
The rabbit and the wolf so innocent and wee  
The rabbit and the wolf I know it’s hard to believe  
Hunted, wanted

The rabbit and the wolf the carnivore and the beast  
The rabbit and the wolf the city cries while they bleed  
The rabbit and the wolf are tryin’ to make ends meet  
The rabbit and the wolf trapped in a dead end street  
Hunted, wanted  
Hunted, wanted  
The rabbit and the wolf

~ The Rabbit and the Wolf (The Picturebooks)

“I am a recovering narcissist. I thought narcissism was about self-love till someone told me there is a flip side to it. It is actually drearier than self-love; it is unrequited self-love.” ~ Emily Levine

“If you expect the world to be fair with you because you are fair, you’re fooling yourself. That’s like expecting the lion not to eat you because you did not eat him.” ~ Pravinee Hurbungs

“There is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never care for anything else thereafter.” ~ Ernest Hemingway

*****************************************************************

Victor grabbed her raised arm to haul her up. Pulling her over his shoulder, he held her there with one hand as he took off again – traveling by rooftops.

Heedless of the harrowing fall she was risking, she struggled, kicked, and pounded fists on his back. While she obeyed in not sparking fireworks in his face, the shrieks and yelling were impressive – and going to make eluding pursuit difficult. He was willing to put up with the Tarzan and Jane antics, though. After all, he didn’t want to elude her hunters too successfully.

Aiming for a rooftop maintenance shed he knew well, he landed in front of it and dropped the girl on her ass less than gently. Slashing the latest deadbolt, he turned to pull her inside.

Dumbfounded to see her sitting there with a phone in her hand, about to tap a speed dial button that would probably bring the whole stinking X-cavalry around his ears, he moved to snatch it. Before he got there, it exploded out of her hand and the next three slugs fired slammed into his chest.

Roaring when he spotted the shooters scaling up the next building with fancy ropes and gadgets, he snatched up his captive again and bounded away to gain more distance. When she started to scream, he landed a blow on her temple light enough to knock her out, and got back to the business of finding a place to hole up.

_Need a playin’ field where tha prey’ll be more comfortable comin’ outta their holes. Hmm… Lower East Side might could work, between tha bridges. Dingier, lotsa dicey alleys ‘round tha outskirts o’ Chinatown an’ such. Perfect. Gonna take a bit t’ get down there, but hey – I do got all night._

~ ~ ~

Victor waited slightly impatiently for his in-flight entertainment to wake up.

_All quiet on tha Western Front so far but hostiles are likely en route. Highly amusin’ that my underworld reputation o’ bein’ fond o’ expensive hotels would one night come in handy while duckin’ int’ a tiny apartment hotel – it oughta gimme ‘nuff time t’ reboot tha pipsqueak._

Jubilee was sprawled where he had dumped her, in a shoebox apartment on the bed’s thin hideous floral bedspread. He fully intended to tell her what his nose could still smell on it.

The five story yellow brick hotel with green metal fire escape stairs snaking up the front had a measly two stars and at first glance, it looked like the perfect place to be murdered in. Unless you were used to how this end of Chinatown and the Two Bridges area did things, you’d never realize the jumbled storefront displaying colorful plastic tourist trash was actually the entrance to a hotel.

_Bunch o’ Midwest racists an’ a Russian ain’t gonna know this area. It’s perfect, but tha cleanin’ fee is gonna be fucked – sans lube._

Victor had gotten in via the roof, through the window at the fire escape. Out of respect for a building built in 1900, he’d used a claw to slice the lock rather than cutting the glass on the window. He’d locked Jubilee in, and then strolled downstairs to steal the apartment key once the clerk went off to use the john. The old man seemed half blind to him, so he utilized his dusty Mandarin forgery skills and scrawled in the ledger that Mr. and Mrs. Tony Edwards had booked the unit.

_Tony won’t mind me usin’ some o’ ‘is name fer a good cause – savin’ a child an’ all._

Tucking cash under the ledger was an old trick – so that the man would be too fussed about forgetting to put it away properly to worry about the fact that he couldn’t remember what Mr. Edwards and his lovely wife had looked like. A little touch of guilt like that could go a long way for incidental security, if Hydra did happen along to canvas the place. The actual cash he got out of the till, since he hadn’t brought any.

Glancing around, he felt a twinge of guilt himself. He’d never cared about theft, but he preferred it to be a white collar crime when he did it. This place and its people were not rolling in money, and if his hunt went well, it would be expensive to fix the room in his wake.

 _Suck it up. Yer an asshole – just livin’ tha dream._ With a grunt, he made a mental note to have Lenusya settle things later and carted the key upstairs.

Back in the apartment, he opened a small bottle of water and sacrificed it and the sad little peanuts packet to his healing factor. The bullets in his chest had healed over as lumps, but he ignored them for now. Making her watch him cut them out was sure to be a good time. Opening the window a crack, he leaned his hip on the sill and kept watch through the green railing bars of the fire escape.

Not bothering to look at her much until she began to wake, he ignored the pathetic attempt to feign sleep. _Is that some lame survivalist bullshit those morons teach upstate? Tabs tried it, too._

Noting that she was not in a uniform, he winced at her crippled fashion sense. She wore athletic workout tights with a crazy multi-color geometric pattern that clashed so triumphantly with the bedspread, it hurt his brain. Converse All Star High Top tennis shoes finished off that end. For some reason, they were bright red with yellow smiley-face wide laces. Keeping with the smiley-face theme, a big one covered her yellow t-shirt, the circle drawn in black. Her wide red belt, made of plastic, had little hidden zippered pockets. Her destroyed phone had been kept in one. Others held a little cash, some kind of candy gum, and a fruity-smelling lip gloss. She wore silver dollar-sized gold hoop earrings that actually looked expensive and faintly smelled like the runt.

_Wonder which year anniversary o’ bein’ a sidekick rates gold? Ya oughta put yer toys away proper, fireplug, or somebody might could scarper off with ‘em. That’d be a damn shame, huh?_

The rest hadn’t changed much, even if she was a smidgen taller; she was still a short Chinese punk kid with messily cropped and gooped black hair. Unlike Tabitha, it was harder to tell if this one had hit puberty or not but mutant talents said yes. Despite her ancestors, he knew when the peepers fluttered open, they would be mutant blue.

He had once asked Cueball’s resident Dr. Frankenstein, Henry McCoy, why so many mutants were born with blue eyes, but he hadn’t gotten much of a sensible response. Once the thirty-two dollar science words had been piled high enough, he had ceased to pay attention. Whitecoats were useless for getting a straight answer.

_Mostly wanted t’ know why mine abandoned blue for Pa’s amber – but tha real question is, why were Pa’s like that at all? He sure as shit wasn’t no mutant – latent genes or not, McCoy, ya bloody crank._

Growling, he focused on the psychedelic pipsqueak to escape old and endless circles that simply didn’t matter anymore.

The growl popped those baby blues in a hurry, and Victor regretted not having the foresight to be looming close to her instead of across the small bedroom. He was about to fix that with a threatening swagger, when a scent outside caught his attention.

Crouching down, he sniffed at the breeze coming through the window opening. Fingers poised on the faded blue denim over his thighs, he listened. Satisfied that he could take this one without alerting the others, he turned his head slowly to freak the kid out as he glared at her.

“I’m goin’ out there t’ snag us an idiot t’ satisfy my ... curiosity.”

Rising, he crossed the room and grasped the phone from the nightstand, lifted it to show it to the girl, and then crushed it into a sharp and flaking plastic ball.

“Gonna need ya t’ stay right where ya are an’ keep shuttin’ up. If’n yer ass moves more’n two feet offa that bed fer any reason, I’ll hafta teach ya t’ mind me better tha next time. Ain’t nowhere t’ run, shortcake. Place is crawlin’ by now an’ they all seem hot t’ pop ya in a sack. Ya get that, don’t ya.”

She had huddled up against the headboard and scrunched herself into an upright fetal curl, with a pillow clutched in front of her. Staring at him, she nodded.

“Smart. Sit tight – yer Uncle Victor’s gonna be right back.”

He returned to the window, opened it and slipped out, looking back once to toss the kid a wink. It was an even split shot that she would obey this time. Either way, he would handle it.

The heat had let up a bit, but it was still downright balmy on the streets and his prey was sweating like mad in oversized clothes and coat with bulletproof gear underneath. She was hiding the gun, but he could smell a lot of metal.

Scenting everything around him, ears up and open, he followed the woman. The prey was moving down Catherine Street studying the storefronts, and it looked like she was actually going to check the hotel.

_So at least one o’ ‘em ain’t deeply stupid. Right on time, bitch – lucky short straw._

Slipping around unseen as she got closer, he crouched and sprang, wrapped her in his arms and fell with her into the dirty street. Pressing her under his weight almost knocked her unconscious, but a quick light punch to the head finished the job. Without hesitation, he hoisted her up over one shoulder and used claws to climb the front of the hotel to the fire escape landing on the top floor. Crossing to his window, he opened it and with a bit of effort, stuffed his catch through.

“Oh, geez…” the kid muttered.

“Got me a brandy-new respect fer Santa Claus now, tell ya that. Shit, bitch – how much armor an’ crap does a gal need, huh?”

He lifted her again and tossed her to the bed, nearly dropping her on top of Jubilee. He was impressed at her skill in getting out of the way while not leaving the bed as ordered.

Yanking the long coat open and shredding the shirt and pants, he whistled softly at the high-tech body armor under it and the bulky bullpup automatic rifle cleverly strapped to hang under her arm.

“Tavor X-95 419, Israeli,” he told the kid. “Stupid thing t’ lug ‘round a burg like this.”

Cutting a strip of coat and wadding it up, he stuffed it into the woman’s mouth, chuckling when she woke in the middle of the procedure, wide-eyed and flailing. “Yeah, wake up, cunt. Time t’ sing – after I get ya outta all this turtle shell shit.”

Hydra’s latest and greatest tactical armor still split like clotted cream under his claws. She fought, but he barely noticed. Slicing and finally breaking the armor off, he tossed it all to the floor on the window side. Her hated Hydra uniform and boots hit the floor after it. When all that was left was bra and panties, the kid got up off the bed and began to back away, her fingers reaching for the lamp on the nightstand.

Victor looked up and hissed, freezing her in place. “Two feet, kid – don’t test me.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Find out why they’re after ya.”

“She can’t talk with clothes on? Why do you care anyway?”

Ears pinning, Victor snarled. “Shut tha fuck up, huh? I’m workin’ here.”

One tug had snapped the leather straps when he’d stripped her. He used the leather as a handle, rifle dangling, and set it business-end down between the bed and nightstand. On the opposite side of the bed, lamp forgotten, the kid had practically stuffed herself into the other matching narrow space. She had ducked her head and covered it with her arms.

 _Odds are my reputation’s got tha brat’s head poppin’ with tha possibilities, here. I’d hate t’ disappoint._ With a snort of amusement, he leaned low over the prey, on his knees on the bed. “Gonna pull yer gag. Make any noise that ain’t tellin’ me what I wanna know, an’ tha next thing I slash open will be yer skin.” Pinching the wad of her coat in fingers topped by shining claws, he drew it out of her mouth in horrid slow motion. “There, now. Why’re ya roaches here, why ya want tha kid?”

She tried to recite name, rank, and service number, but he interrupted by cuffing her on the ear with the back of his hand.

“Don’t care ‘bout who ya are, what ya are is bad ‘nuff. Why ya tryin’ t’ pop tha brat in a gunnysack?”

“Orders.”

“Tha Fixer’s orders? Paul Ebersol?” One clench down of her teeth and a subtle shift of her expression told him that was a yes. _This bitch is so easy, gonna get bored fast. ‘Sides, don’t really care why they want tha brat, she guessed right, there – long as they want ‘er ‘nuff t’ keep comin’. Need tha Fixer, though. Will killin’ ‘is troopers flush ‘im out or make ‘im bolt?_ “Let’s up tha stakes before I get bored, huh?”

Victor swiped a claw under the little strap that connected the bra cups. All that heaving breaths action made the cups spring away. She was nicely framed by the coat that was still spread under her pale body. When she made no attempt to cover herself with hands or arms but tried to grab his wrists instead, he felt a grudging respect for her guts and sense of priorities.

_Just makes me wanna see those guts too, natch._

Feeling eyes on him, he flicked his gaze over to see the kid glaring up at him. A wicked smirk spread his lips thin as his ears rose, excited and ready to play. Looking back at the breasts, he hissed.

“What a set o’ tits, dee-licious in two ways. Somethin’ t’ aspire t’, huh? Once ya finally outgrow yer Itty Bitty Titty Committee membership? Awright, so much fer fussin’ ‘bout minors bein’ present. I wanna see if’n tha fascist carpet matches tha drapes.”

Slapping a palm over the woman’s mouth, he cut skin when he cut away the panties. The sharp scent of blood wound him up worse than he already was, and he spent a little time getting more of that tasty smell in the air until she was bleeding from dozens of tiny yet deep cuts. Removing his hand, he grinned at her as she panted for breath under him.

“Nice match, I ‘preciate a neatly trimmed slit hedge. Who’s yer commandin’ officer? Yer team, platoon, whatever tha fuck ya call it – name yer plat-daddy an’ I’ll stop carvin’ on ya. Deal? Is it that Russian fucker, Revilo Timchs? Yeah? Now we’re gettin’ somewhere. No ID, no insignia, so this is some kinda ultra-sneaky mission, more’n usual, even. Still in uniform underneath, though. Huh.”

Studying her, the mere sight of nude bleeding prey was an awful temptation. He wanted to fuck and he wanted to tear her up – and the way their chat was going, he wouldn’t get much more out of her.

_Odds’re good that she dunno nothin’ o’ worth at all. Timchs might – got good intel he’s one o’ Ebersol’s fave field grunts these days._

He reached out and stroked up her inner thigh with the pads of two fingers, claws flexed back to merely scratch thin pink lines. She hid her terror well – but that was a mistake. It pissed him off.

“Tell ya what, suck on this.” She tried to scream when he shoved the wad of coat back into her mouth. “Ya dunno shit, do ya? Nope, ya don’t. That means ya only got two uses left.” He licked at the saliva that had begun to drip from his fangs. “Kid, keep yer head down, lessen ya wanna broaden yer education.”

In rapid succession, he snapped the woman’s elbows and wrists, and then leaned back to break her ankles. The body under him bucked and thrashed, moaning around the gag.

“Stop it, what are you doing!”

“Ya move or scream, an’ I’ll break ya next.” He got up off the end of the bed and opened his jeans, laughing when she gasped and hid under her arms again. He tossed his jeans at her casually, smirking when she kicked at them with one tennis shoe. Hauling off his t-shirt, he threw it onto a chair. “Told ya don’t look, an’ I bloody meant it – cuz I’m ‘bout t’ color outside tha fuckin’ lines on this meat stick. Hoo yeah...”

Reveling in the horror on the prey’s face, he quickly forgot about the brat. Too impatient to play games, he fell over the bleeding body and made it bleed more. The legs tried to kick, the feet moving strangely on broken ankles. Yanking them open, he crawled up until he could shove his cock inside it.

“Fuck,” he ground out, and hissed. “Tight as a vise, damn. Gotta call ya Janet, now. Ya a virgin? Is this a deflowerin’? Golly, I’m honored. Hope ya taste as good as tha pussy feels…”

He bruised the large breasts in his hands, letting the claws cut in. Her struggles increased, ramping up his excitement. Bowing his long back, he set fangs to her shoulder and bit, then moved his head and bit a breast. Leaning his head on her chest, he gripped her hips and thrust harder. Just before he came, something thick inside broke with a sharp snap. Snarling, he sank his fangs into her throat and shoulder, and the moment he shot his cum inside the body, he let his weight come down and heard the spine break. Buried fangs was all that allowed him to control a roar of triumph.

Still thrusting for the pure sensation of it, he bit down harder and tore things when he closed his jaw and pulled his teeth free. Shearing up the meat, the carnassial teeth crushed bits of bone with it. He swallowed it all before biting in again for more. He couldn’t recall exactly how long the muffled screams had continued. It hardly mattered beyond his preference to hear them, full-throated and braying, echoing around him as he fucked and ate at once. Having to prevent that was always a damn shame.

When the body began to cool, he withdrew and straddled the hips on his knees to get his claws at the bruised and bloody torso. The meat was good – as sweet as the pussy had felt. He ate his fill, sampling the prey all over. Before he finished, he moved down and licked and sucked his seed from the cooling slit.

In the end, the only thing that made him stop was the rapidly dropping temperature of the corpse. He got away from it before the bladder and bowels released, and only then, with the claws on his toes snagging in the cheap carpet, did he finally register the fear stink and gulping sobs from beside the bed.

Snarling at it instinctively, he abruptly shook his head. Retreating to avoid the urge to kill it, he backed up to the window and perched on the narrow sill again. The beast within was sated, but still hyped up from the thrill of the blood.

On impulse, and needing the distraction, he turned the claws on himself and went after the bullets healed inside his chest, going by feel and scent. Working on regaining his calm while he did it, he stared at the torn red thing on the bed. As the bloodstain under it grew, it slowly obscured the ugly bedspread.

_Well, that’s a mercy, anyhow._

~ ~ ~

The bright moon opened the world before him, as inviting as the corpse on the bed had been before it died.

Victor knew that humans and most mutants saw only the inky black of night, but for him it was peeled away to reveal a muted and precise beauty. The city was laid bare around him outside the window – but it wasn’t empty. Three figures moved with stealth through the concrete jungle, maybe 200 yards away and approaching down Catherine Street. He could hear a dozen more beyond them; the scent of metal, composites, and gun oil was thick around the squad of troopers.

_Smells like tha whole party’s totin’ X-95 toys. Weird pick fer a buncha modern Nazis. Gotta sniper in tha mix too, I bet. I would, if’n it was my game plan._

Fear stink and sobbing sounds still filled the gap on the other side of the fouled bed. The small body stuffed between bed, wall, and nightstand hadn’t moved much, ever since he’d finished with the toy and convenient meal, after it died. The rival musk scent on its – her – skin was faint, but it still had the power to roil in his gut and make his fingers ache to pop claws again.

“There’s more o’ ‘em comin’,” he told her.

Her voice shook. “Rot in Hell, dude.”

Victor turned his head to look at what little of her he could see and smirked. “She tried t’ shoot ya, Short Round. I dug bullets outta my chest that are livin’ proof that ya owe me one.”

“You did ... that ... to her, alive... Then you killed her and ... kept doing it... You ate...”

“So ya went an’ looked – color me surprised. Wasn’t tryin’ t’ kill ‘er, mostly cuz I wasn’t done yet. Pelvis an’ spine snapped.” He shrugged. “It happens.”

“Oh my god, shut up. Why did you do it!”

Snarling, he rounded on her. “Ya bloody fuckin’ know why ya pissant li’l useless mascot. Those assholes shot me fer savin’ yer wretched hide. Maybe ya’d learn t’ be more grateful if’n I shoved tha crushed bullets up yer ass with my foot, huh?”

She crumpled, sobbing harder. One defiant middle finger attempted to keep up the tough gal façade as she pressed her forehead back onto her knees.

 _Runt’s adopted cub or not, still a cub – technically... Fine._ Victor growled and tried again. “Gotta eat so’s we can survive all tha hell fallin’ on us. If’n ya spot a steakhouse or a herd o’ antelope in tha john, lemme know. Otherwise, there’s just this bitch ... an’ ya.”

“I hate you.”

“Yeah? Well be quiet doin’ it, cuz if’n tha whole mess o’ ‘em find us before I fig out our exit strategy, this sitch’s gonna be an even bigger clusterfuck.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Helpin’ ya?”

She glared up at him as she tried to regroup. “Why save me from them?”

“Ain’t none o’ yer fuckin’ biz why.”

“It’s all a game to you, isn’t it? You’re going to kill me. You hate Wolvie, so you hate me.”

“‘Wolvie’?” His ears pinned in disgust. “He puts up with that cutesy shit?”

“I was like thirteen, ‘kay?”

“Ain’t now, are ya? Didn’t jump in fer ‘Wolvie’. Fer ‘im, I woulda torn yer guts out by now, worn ‘em like a feather boa an’ gone off t’ see tha _Rocky Horror Picture_ _Show_.”

Victor rose and turned away from the window to face her, allowing the claws to slide out slow and curl long as he walked around the end of the bed.

With a gasp, she hid her face against her knees again, her thin arms hugging her legs.

“We gotta go, kid. Hafta keep ahead o’ tha hunters. I don’t like playin’ prey one bit, but we need some space before we can turn tha tables on these bastards. Get up.”

“Get dressed,” she snapped back.

Her voice was muffled as she hid from his blood-streaked nudity. His fur was matted with gore and his dick, still at half-mast but hooded again, was smeared with a red and white mess.

Chuckling, Victor advanced on her. “Dunno how ya ended up all delicate after playin’ sherpa t’ tha runt fer years. That asshole can’t keep a set o’ clothes on ‘is stump-ugly carcass. Pants. Right there. Toss ‘em over, lessen ya want me t’ come an’ get ‘em.”

She groped blindly around her, grabbed his jeans, and tossed them in a wad over his clawed toes.

He pulled them on, shoved his bloody dick in, and fastened the buttonfly. “Time t’ go.”

The girl looked up again timidly. “What about her?”

“What ‘bout ‘er? Ya wanna bury ‘er in a fifth floor $190 a night hotel flat? Ain’t talkin’ ‘bout a goldfish, li’l girl. This bitch won’t flush.”

“Aren’t you killers at least worried about evidence?”

“I been leavin’ a trail in my wake since before ya had such a long list o’ presidents in this country. Whenever they have managed t’ catch me, they’ve tried t’ kill me. I been lynched, shot, fried, injected, ya name it – none o’ that shit sticks. Tha methods that might could work, they done put on tha ‘cruel an’ inhumane’ list, didn’t they? So they settle fer lockin’ me up an’ throwin’ away tha key. Ain’t no flatscan prison ever built can hold me.”

Jubilee glared up at him. “That’s a person, not a blowup doll Happy Meal! Somebody’s daughter, mother –”

“Somebody’s Hydra stormtrooper – fascist meat. Ya comin’ or would ya rather wait ‘til my handiwork starts t’ bloat? In this heat, it’ll draw flies. They’ll lay their eggs right in there, ya know. Left ‘em plenty o’ spots t’ choose from. Gonna be a regular maggot daycare.”

The girl moaned, lurched forward onto hands and knees, and threw up.

Victor laughed. He thought about taking the weapon, but then opted to destroy it instead. Strolling back around the bed, he pulled his t-shirt back on and fetched the rifle out of its corner. The claws cutting through the wretched brute sounded awful, and he pinned his ears down in self-defense.

He didn’t bother to toy with her over it as she watched in shock. Heavily armed troopers were on the move out there, and a dozen or so of them might be a real challenge – it happened, now and then.

As he moved back to the window, he tossed a taunt over his shoulder, “Anytime yer ready, Jubilee.”

She wiped her mouth on the hanging askew bedspread and refused to look up at the mess on the bed.

Climbing through the window like she’d done it a million times, she balked when he offered his hand, the claws retracting slowly as she stared at them.

“Puh-leez, I can get down a fire escape without assistance, dude.”

“We ain’t goin’ down, we’re goin’ up. Ever heard tha phrase ‘ride tha tiger’?”

“Not my scene. I like bubblegum. This is under duress, got it?”

“Sure – or ya can try fendin’ fer yerself again, but it didn’t go so good last time.”

“Just so we’re clear.”

“If’n ya planned t’ stand here yammerin’ an’ bleatin’ all night, why come out so docile?”

Her temper flared with her volume. “Docile? Oh, when I go docile, I’ll be dead.”

Ears pinning, he hissed. “Remindin’ me o’ my options may not be so smart just now.”

Glaring at him, she couldn’t hide her fear. It soothed his irritation. Watching him, her thin shoulders slumped a hair.

“I needed out of there. And ... I don’t want to be shot or gunnysacked.”

Fingers hooking in his front pockets, his smirk began to stretch over his face. “They say it’s all ‘bout tha devil ya know.”

“Nobody in their right mind would call you a lesser evil.” She crossed her arms over the smiley shirt and glared at him.

Victor sighed. “Depends how cuddly they are with Hydra. We done bondin’ here?”

“Fine. Duress squared.”

Sneering at her, he turned and went down on a knee on the grating of the fire escape, offering his hands again. “Climb up an’ hang on, shortcake – ya don’t gotta worry ‘bout a thing with me – ‘cept me.”

He chuckled at the mincing way she tried to climb up piggyback, yet how she readied herself told him she’d done this before, too.

“See? Nice an’ docile.”

“Docile and traumatized are different things. You’d know that if you cracked a dictionary, like, ever.”

“Bet yer at tha head o’ yer class an’ all in mutant guerrilla fighter school, ain’t ya. Tutor me later, huh? Tick, tock. An’ quit wrigglin’ back there. Ain’t no pony ride at tha pettin’ zoo. Shoulda tinkled before we left.”

“Ugh,” she complained, as her arms were smeared with the blood on his neck and chest as she got her grip settled. “You are so gross.”

“Messy eater,” he quipped, “always was.”

She managed to stay on and not screaming this time as he carted her around was a bonus. He kept track of the scents of the enemy as he jumped over Catherine Street to a few connected rooftops and loped along them, parallel with Madison Street.

_Gonna be a challenge t’ hit tha right mix o’ not too well hid an’ not caught in a trap. Dunno Ebersol that well, only met tha arrogant Ohio prick a coupla times. He wasn’t nothin’ but a bit player then – how’d he climb up t’ division head o’ Hydra’s pencil-neck geek club? They must be gettin’ desperate. Speakin’ o’ desperate, why chase a B-team firecracker? Lessen they want leverage over tha runt, she ain’t worth much._

He kept to the more grimy backstreets closer to the Manhattan Bridge once he abandoned the rooftops. Stopping for a breather when the kid was about to fall off, he took cover in an alley near Market Street and let her slip down onto her feet. He was too amused to fuss when she used the back of his t-shirt to wipe blood from her arms and hands.

“You’re trying to passive-aggressive rip my arms off, right?”

“Quit yammerin’ a minute, gotta listen.” When she opened her mouth again, he put a hand over it and used it to shove her into the bricks of the building behind them – relatively gently for him. _Fuck, they ain’t that far back._ “They put a tracker on ya?” Removing his hand, he glared as she spluttered.

“Ow. No, I don’t think so. I mean, sniff me – unless they tossed one from twenty feet, no way.”

“How’d they get on yer six?”

“Um…?”

Victor growled. “Ya were window shoppin’ – then ya were runnin’. How’d it start?”

“Oh. I saw their reflections in a shop window and bailed – I mean, I can spot trouble quick by now – when it doesn’t drop on me out of the sky.”

Ignoring her disgusted huff, he did scent her, leaning down as he did it. Nothing was unusual, and if she’d had a tracker on her clothes, he would have smelled it in the hotel.

“Gettin’ paranoid,” he muttered.

“Getting?” she asked, eyebrows shooting up.

Straightening to tower over her again, he huffed out a breath. “Original threat still stands: ya hit me with fireworks or try t’ blind me with ‘em, yer gonna get broken.”

“I actually remember that, dude – it was pretty vivid.”

“Shut up.” He scented the air again as strategic options popped in his head. “If’n we get in it deep, yer gonna pop tha damn things at ‘em, got it? Be useful – convince me keepin’ ya breathin’ is worth tha trouble.”

“Maybe I’ll just use my powers if it benefits me – against them, I mean,” she amended fast as he snarled at her. “But if they corner me, shoor – I’ll let them have it.”

“Sit tight, I’m gonna go even tha odds a bit.”

“I can’t promise I won’t try to run like hell, dude. You do not have my best interests at heart.”

Moving away from her, he glared back once. “Keep in mind, I can track ya – ain’t no gettin’ away from me, kid. Stick ‘round an’ I won’t let ‘em get ya. If’n yer an idiot an’ they do pop ya in a sack, maybe I’ll get bored an’ let ‘em have ya.”

Grinning, he winked at her and began to sing in an off-key baritone as he walked off around the corner and out onto Market Street. “Bye, baby buntin’, daddy’s gone a-huntin’, gone t’ get a rabbit skin t’ wrap tha baby buntin’ in.”

Victor climbed back up to the rooftops the moment he heard her move. Tracking her was easy. She didn’t utterly suck at moving quietly, but the candy in the belt and the product in her hair were beacons to his nose. On the other side of the chessboard, the troopers were on the move, too. He hadn’t caught Timchs’s scent yet or Ebersol’s.

_Lackey tastes pretty good in a pinch. Just gonna hafta spin tha bottle ‘til I’m facin’ what I wanna suck on._

Peering over the edge as his current roof was bisected by another alley, he crouched and watched as four troopers pounced and surrounded the brat.

He glared when the fireworks burst from her hands. This scrap wasn’t considered a powerhouse by any means, but she’d held her own against him during one of his brief escapes from Xavier’s dungeon when their power grid had gone down. Like any pyro or energy blasting types, plasma incendiary mutants had never been his favorite flavor to tangle with. The threat of fire was a serious one.

 _They’re usin’ harryin’ fire – not tryin’ t’ outright kill ‘er. So they want ‘er alive. Good t’ know._ With a roar, he jumped in front of her and watched the guns rise to shoot him. “Blind ‘em, kid!”

Victor was surprised when she obeyed fast, and his laughter rang out around them as he used that opening to bloody advantage. It was a bit disappointing that it was only four of them, but he couldn’t really complain.

He leaped on the closest one, dropped his jaw, and bit off the face, partially crushing the skull as his teeth tore the skin away from it. Instantly, it worked – shocking and devastating the others so intensely that they were slow to engage. Only one of them even managed to fire a weapon at him. Easily dodging the bullets with twists of his body, he reached out and grabbed the Tavor assault rifle and yanked it out of the man’s hands. Twisting his torso and bringing the weapon around, he opened fire with it on the next trooper.

_Head shot. Golly, guess helmets ain’t in tha budget._

The armored body fell at his feet. Ducking down to avoid more bullets, he grasped the ankles of the corpse’s boots and hurled it up, swinging it through the air. It struck the shooter and knocked him to his back. Dropping the body, he jumped on the one he’d mown down and slashed claws across the face, throat, and chest. The armor and clothes may as well have been tissue paper.

Shoving his fingers into the chest plate, he picked that corpse up like a bowling ball and turned to grin at the last one still standing. The fool froze for a moment, and then bolted for the top of the alley. Letting the pierced one fall, he loped after the prey, reaching with long arms to swipe at the legs as it ran. Screaming, it stumbled and crashed into the dirty concrete at the end of a trail of slices of its flesh, some still with slivers of armor stuck to them by blood.

“No! Please, no, don’t – I didn’t –!”

Claws slashed and opened the back, grasping and tearing the armor away. He rolled it as he followed it down, biting and gouging with feet and hands – until it stopped wiggling.

Growling, he turned his head slowly to stare balefully at the kid. As he rose, he wiped blood and long strings of saliva from his mouth with the back of his wrist.

She lifted her hands to threaten him and the growl sharpened into a snarl, lips pulling back from the teeth. Lowering her hands, she retreated, almost crying out when her back struck and rattled the metal grating of a delivery door.

Victor stalked back to her. Hearing the gurgle of blood in a throat, he looked down at the one he’d bitten first. “Well, well – lookie here, a survivor. Losin’ my touch.” With a shrug, he left it as it was and began collecting the weapons. He destroyed them with his claws, dropping the pieces over the messy parts of another trooper. “Good work by tha by,” he told her as she stood there shaking. “Impressive reflexes with tha firepower – did tha runt teach ya that?”

“How could you!” the brat shrieked at him, frantic and shrill. Her little fists clenched and struck the metal.

Ears pinning, Victor’s eyes narrowed. “Yer kiddin’, right? Ya do know who yer fuckin’ runnin’ with here? ‘Sides, fer all ya know, they wanna shove a stick up yer nethers an’ roast ya. I beat a motherfucker with another motherfucker t’ save yer skinny ass. A li’l gratitude wouldn’t kill ya – but I might, if’n ya don’t learn t’ stay put when I say stay put.”

She slowly wilted as she took in the dripping red claws and fingers, the blood-splattered feet. Scarlet was smeared over his face and sprayed over his clothes and up his arms.

With a snort, he began to walk off. “Better. Silence is golden, pipsqueak – duct tape is silver. C’mon.”

In a broken little voice, she whispered, “Please don’t leave him like that.”

“Thought ya didn’t want me t’ kill ‘em?”

“He can’t survive that. He’s … suffering.”

“Good.” Victor watched her, glowering. “Wanna give ‘im ‘is face back? Ain’t gonna fit right with ‘is skull all dented up.”

“Please?” Tears shimmered in blue eyes.

 _Like Tabitha – an’ Bonnie._ “Ugh. Waste o’ my time. Goody fuckin’ brat.”

He returned to it, popped claws on his foot again, and lifted it over the throat. Shoving them in, his irritation nearly drove him to decapitate the wretch.

“Natch, ya don’t watch tha mercy killin’ ya asked fer. Wanna kick it? Just t’ blow off steam. Ain’t hangin’ on t’ tha rest by much, now. Street billiards, huh? Call yer pocket first.”

With tears running down her face, she pushed herself off the grating and muttered, “You’re disgusting.”

“Stroke my ego later, we ain’t run outta ‘em yet. Gotta move. Hop up.”

“I can walk.”

Growling, Victor grabbed her, tossed her up over a shoulder, and trotted off away from the pursuit. She screamed again in outrage, punching and trying to kick him.

“Dunno why yer so pissy. That was guerrilla warfare at its finest, Short Round. Ya stunned ‘em fer me t’ mop ‘em up – Chuck would be proud o’ ya.”

Before she could scream at him again, one light punch turned her into a limp sack and in the blessed silence he was able to elude the others.

Entering a warren of dark little streets and alleys almost under the ramp for the Manhattan Bridge, he cut through a fence and found a dead end corner behind a dumpster. Hidden there was the scent he had tracked – an old ratty couch.

A tangle of smells hung in the air, none of them pleasant: unwashed bodies had mated on the couch, drugs had been injected, smoked, and consumed. The reek of waste of all kinds seemed rubbed into every surface. Dotted around here and there, almost glowing softly in his enhanced vision, pale used condoms looked like strange mushrooms.

Dumping the kid on one end of the couch, he searched the area thoroughly before shoving the dumpster a bit into a better position as a blind. Keeping all senses open no matter what it cost him, he went back to the couch and fell onto the opposite end of it with a grunt.

Victor filtered through the sounds of traffic on the nearby bridge, streets, and the more distant Brooklyn Bridge, plus boat traffic on the East River. Somewhere back down near Madison Street, a car alarm went off.

The kid came to with a groan and the minute she breathed in, she nearly choked. “Oh … I’m gonna gag…”

Victor’s snort made her stiffen before she wilted. She covered her mouth and nose with her hands and drew her legs up until she was scrunched into another ball of misery. Cautiously glancing around only added a sharper tinge of green to her flushed cheeks.

“Oh, crud…” she muttered through fingers. “Um, why are we sitting here in a dead end alley on Satan’s couch?”

“Ain’t no such thing as a dead end t’ me. Couch is softer’n concrete an’ better’n sittin’ in cold barf.”

“When you put it that way... I’m lucky I can’t see much in this gloom, I bet.”

“Count yer blessin’s.”

“Yeah, no comment.” She sniffed and then made another noise of disgust. “I d’know how you can even be here, with jacked-up senses.”

“Real challenge is siftin’ through it all t’ scan fer scents o’ tha enemy.”

“The enemy ... are still people.”

Victor closed his eyes and attempted to get comfortable. “Hydra. Barely people at all.”

“That’s exactly what others say about us.”

“Ask yer precious X-morons if’n they like Hydra. An’ yet ya gotta prob with killin’ ‘em, same as they do. Flatscans that hate us, wanna kill or torture us, an’ ya wanna show ‘em mercy. Maybe yer just parrotin’ what ya were taught but trust me, kid: fanatic fascists don’t count. Bet Cueball would agree if’n he wasn’t so busy bein’ one – or capable o’ bein’ honest worth a damn.”

Shooting him a sullen glare, she taunted, “You used to be one. Didn’t you?”

“Conscripted by ugly circumstances – ain’t tha same as believin’ their bullshit.”

“I’ll take Nuremberg Excuses for $500, Alex.”

Victor smirked. “Funny. I escaped before they could catch me in that net. Was happy t’ hear ‘bout ‘em dyin’, though it was years before I heard tha whole story. That fucker Himmler was planted in an unmarked grave in tha forest near Lüneburg, before tha Brits eventually dug ‘im up an’ cremated ‘im. If’n I knew where they dumped tha ashes, I’d piss on ‘im.”

“Um … uh-huh. So … what are we doing here, really? Where is here?”

“On tha maps, they call it Mechanics Alley, though it ain’t tha historical one by that name. Spot like this, we got us an out vertically if’n we need one; if those bastards find us, only so many can come at us at once.”

“Making it easier to kill more of them. Goodie. Y’know, I had this whole dream that I wasn’t going to grow up to be a killer.”

“I was pissed when I found out _Rosemary’s Baby_ wasn’t a documentary ‘bout George Clooney. We all gotta cope with disappointments in life, shortcake. Pickin’ tha runt t’ follow ‘round like a puppy ain’t a great plan if’n ya don’t like killin’. Surprised ya even bat an eye when I do it.”

“The differences are vast.”

“Hardly. He kills Hydra too, with gusto – makes literal hills o’ their corpses big ‘nuff t’ stick a flag in – I know that fer a fact. T’ be fair, he don’t fuck an’ eat ‘em, ya got me, there. Stick in tha mud, that mutt – always was. He got ‘is hard-ons makin’ me toe tha line on missions, back in tha day.”

Victor smirked again as he read her micro-expressions, almost able to see the biting comebacks in Logan’s defense flipping through her brain, followed close by common sense wiping the slate back to a saner response.

“Am I going to be connected to this? Tossed in the clink?”

“Duress, right? More o’ tha aidin’ an’ abettin’ type sitch, plus I threatened ya. They’ll believe it, trust me. Hell, I’d even vouch fer ya on that score – but it won’t come up. Tha law don’t want no part o’ it if’n they fig it’s me. Told ya why already.”

To his shock, she was quiet after that. He scanned through the morass of sounds and scents again but for the moment, they were well-hidden from their would-be hunters.

_Gotta gauge this right. Can’t hide too good. Frustrate ‘em at every turn, kill a few, inspire tha grunts t’ call fer new orders. If’n they gotta have my bait alive, that gives me some wiggle room._

The brat’s voice interrupted his planning; her tone was subdued, full of regret. Curiosity scratched at him.

“Logan found the men who murdered my parents. Gave them to me with bows on their heads, said if I wanted to kill them, go ahead. He told me I could use my powers, give them a stroke, get off scott-free.”

“Probly right. So why didn’t ya?” He opened his eyes to look at her when she sat up more.

“How do y‘know I didn’t?”

“Ain’t tha type. Heat o’ battle, maybe, not knowin’ yer own wattage – shit happens. Cold an’ planned? Nope. Odds are he knew that. It was a test, girl.”

“Well … yeah. I wanted to, but … that’s not who I am – not who I wanted to be. I used a gymnast move to kick them in the balls at the same time. It made me feel better.”

“Ow,” Victor empathized, giving his sack a sympathy rub. The kid ignored it.

After a beat, she added, “That’s just one reason I never regretted ‘picking him’ – that he would do that. Logan understood it, my grief and … rage. Those thugs destroyed my life.” Jubilee frowned. “The others, the no-kill bunch, would’ve suggested I have Professor X shrink my head and then they’d maybe want me to hug it out or something.”

“Yup. No respect fer what ya lost or how ya lost it. Ya know why, right?”

“The real reason or your made-up one?”

“My assessment from a bloody intimately personal observation point – when I was in that asshole Cueball’s clutches.”

“‘Kay… Why?”

“They only fix what’ll make ya a better soldier fer their agenda. Ask tha Mississippi Marauder how much help she got – bet she’s still waitin’. Told ‘er she would be. She was doin’ ‘is biddin’ already – nothin’ t’ fix there.”

The kid studied her tennis shoes as if they held the secrets of the universe. “I don’t want to believe that, but … it doesn’t feel too far off-base. Rogue still can’t touch anybody.”

“My point.”

Jubilee bowed her head and sighed. “Those thugs … I d’know what happened to them – they were out cold when we left. I hope they didn’t hurt more people because I showed mercy. Would Logan have killed them later? I never had the guts to ask.”

“Ya know their names?”

“Molokai and Reno – I’ll never forget. I hope they’re dead.”

“They are now.”

She looked up at him sharply, her lower lip stuck out in a frowning pout. It might have been charming on a creature with tits – provided it didn’t also smell of the bloody runt.

“You d’know everything, or anything, about it. You lie all the time.”

With a sigh, Victor sat up and leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Ya’d be surprised how often I tell tha truth, kid – less effort than fibbin’. Oh, I’m good at lyin’ when I gotta, sure – but fer somethin’ like this, no reason t’ bother. I know most o’ tha lowlife criminal rats in tha trade, heard o’ tha rest. Happens, when ya live long ‘nuff.”

“Are you going to claim that you killed them – to manipulate me?”

“Nope an’ nope. Don’t gotta manipulate ya, yer outgunned by a mile, here.”

Jubilee sighed again. “Shoot.”

Over her head and unobserved, he smirked, amused to hear her use slang she’d picked up from the runt. “Molokai died o’ ischemic heart disease, technically – it gave ‘im a heart attack. Reno croaked from bone cancer – a long an’ ugly way t’ go. So ya got yer revenge anyhow. Dunno who they mighta hurt in-between but there ya go.”

“How do y’know that about them?”

“Told ya, I hear things. Never worked with ‘em, they were two-bit thug idiots. Believe me or not, don’t care.”

“Thanks ... for telling me.”

Grudgingly, he muttered, “Yer welcome.” A beat later, he frowned. _All this fuckin’ bondin’ shit with tha runt’s fave is makin’ me itch._ He grunted in annoyance and picked the first thing he thought of to harass her about. “Damn distractin’ with ya sittin’ there smellin’ like fruit.”

The kid looked up at him, frowning. “I guess I’m lucky I don’t smell like steak.”

Chuckling, he shot a leer her way. “Oh ya do – pretty much everybody does.”

“Thanks for sharing. Wow, this is weird. If you’re hiding a board game or Twister mat somewhere, ready to liven up the party later, count me out.”

“Weirdest part fer me is not dismemberin’ tha runt’s favorite pocket pet.”

She glared at him again, instantly all puffed up. It was almost cute – like a pissed-off kitten. “You don’t scare me.”

“Bullshit.” Victor flopped back to relax with a smirk, putting his clawed bare feet up on the grubby cushions. Hands on thighs, he let the claws cut their way out of his bloodstained fingers and curl long – on display for her. “I scare ya outta yer li’l cotton candy brains.”

“If you were going to kill me, you would have. Saving me from Hydra? Keeping me safe from them on the run? Na-uh, no way.”

“Maybe killin’ Hydra pukes gives me a hard-on an’ if’n they want ya so bad, I keep gettin’ opportunities t’ do that. Be a shame if we ran out, huh?” He caught the look of fear and doubt before she could wipe it off her face and grinned at her. “Ya ain’t never gonna know what’s goin’ on in here,” he told her. Tapping a temple with one claw and letting it draw a bead of blood, he added, “Never know what I might could do.”

Jubilee fixed him with an angry stare – a clear challenge. Did she realize that? She took a breath and retorted, “Vague threats 101 – cheap scare tactics without the commitment.”

“Oh, ya want specifics?” Victor unwound his body from his end of the ratty couch and slid along its filthy length to sit close to her. “When I run outta Hydra goons t’ gut, I’m gonna take ya somewhere tha runt’ll find ya an’ use my claws on this face that he’s so fuckin’ fond o’.”

He ran a claw along the side of her face in front of her ear, leaving behind a thin crimson scratch. The claw moved to the hinge of her jaw as she froze, tears rising in her eyes already.

“Gonna cut these, slice yer lower jaw off, turn it upside down an’ let ya wear it as a teeth tiara – after I gut ya, so’s I can hear all the screamin’. Yer gonna smell like watermelon an’ bloody viscera. Think ‘Wolvie’ would like that?”

The tears fell. “I hate you.”

“That’s more like it.” He sat back again next to her and sprawled out in a comfortable slump, the challenge beaten down. “Bit o’ free advice: ya don’t wanna lemme get bored, Short Round.”

Jubilee sat curled up in crumpled misery smelling properly of fear with her chin on her raised knees and arms around her bent legs – her default position around him, apparently.

_Def gotta ‘preciate tha balls on tha puffy kitten, though. Points fer funny insults while terrified. This one might just be wasted on tha runt – downer pissy kill-joy fucker. How’s he always gettin’ better toys? Ain’t got Tony, though. I win._

The blessed quiet lasted all of ten minutes. He couldn’t muster a scrap of surprise.

“I’m hungry.”

Victor rolled his eyes. “‘Go t’ ground’ don’t mean strollin’ off t’ tha local waterin’ hole.”

“I thought you were supposed to be Mr. Resourceful.”

“Ya weren’t a fan o’ my last bit o’ resourceful food gettin’. Ya want me t’ hunt some rats fer ya? They ain’t bad raw, in a pinch – no fuss, no muss – lessen ya insist on ‘em bein’ skinned an’ deboned.”

“No thanks. I’m allergic to vermin – probably why I don’t want to hang out with you.”

Victor chuckled. He wasn’t hungry, but her scent was making him crave sugar.

Unclenching slowly, as if wary of sudden movement with him so close, she began to dig in the zipper pockets of her belt. The enticing fruit and sugar smell billowed up like a little cloud. He knew what it was, but messing with her was a good way to hold off boredom.

“Got any candy in there?”

“Aren’t you supposed to offer me candy?”

Victor snorted.

“Um… I have gum – watermelon-kiwi Bubblicious.”

“Naw, can’t deal with that – ain’t got cow teeth.”

“Yeah, well, I do. Your loss, dude.”

She eagerly dug out the new pack and opened it. Her hesitation before she tossed the strip of colorful paper to the ground was amusing as hell, considering how it was surrounded by dried piles of barf, wet piles of shit, and used rubbers. In the midst of that mess, the wrapped cubes of gum smelled like heaven.

Victor leered over her again with a sharp Cheshire grin. “Tell ya what – ya chew that an’ I’ll just hang ‘round real close an’ sniff it.”

Jubilee glared at his blood-smeared face, tossed the gum back into the pocket, and zipped it up. “Pass.”

Smirking, he leaned back. “Suit yerself.”

Sated on fascist long pig and balls comfortably lighter, he felt a cat nap creeping up. Trusting her to be quiet and still for that without sneaking off or attempting to harm him was out of the question.

Victor pushed her back against the couch without a second thought and snuggled in. One hand, claws drawn in until they were only peeking out, rested high up on her thigh as he effectively turned her into a teddy bear.

Scenting tears again, he felt her slender body freeze stiff with a new kind of fear. His intention was to make her stay put this time, yet she seemed to think he had other games in mind.

Victor curled his lips into a sneer of irritation over her head, but telling her he didn’t do that to cubs was pointless. She wouldn’t believe him, and it would undermine the dread he was aiming on using to control her.

“Don’t...” she whispered, her voice breaking.

 _Got ‘er cowed but those li’l fingers’re twitchin’. Push too hard an’ yer gonna get a snoot full o’ tha Fourth o’ July._ “Shut yer yap. Gonna catch some Zs. Keep still an’ quiet,” illustrating the order with a threatening stroke of clawed fingertips on her leg, he added, “or else.”

She bit her lower lip and cried – quietly, at least.

_This one ain’t thinkin’ loud t’ hail Chuck or anybody else, neither – same as Tabitha. I didn’t even hafta turn tha screws t’ confuse tha kid outta doin’ it like I did Tabs. I’d already be hip deep in assholes if she had a lick o’ sense. Why tha fuck wouldn’t they teach ‘em – ‘specially tha junior squad – t’ do that? Are ya that big a dick, Cueball? Can’t be bothered? Yeah ya are. Fuckin’ bastard. Why any o’ ‘em follow ya at all has gotta be tha biggest mystery o’ tha modern age. I’d ask Jeannie – if’n I ever see ‘er again – but it’d suck t’ give ‘em tha idea if they ain’t thinkin’ o’ it already._

With a grunt, he settled in and closed his eyes. Sleep tried to be elusive until he called up thoughts of Tony. It soothed him instantly: that look of intense, almost surprised, pleasure in those beautiful eyes as his mate made his blood sing. The memory of that pleasure affected his body enough to help it relax.

_Anthony … need ya. Keep tha horrors out…_

~ ~ ~

Two small sounds woke him: one was a short distance away, and the other was tucked underneath his leaning torso.

 _Troopers not far off, hard t’ pinpoint how many. Is tha brat pickin’ off nail polish?_ Opening his eyes and looking down at where she had scrunched herself in an effort to touch him as little as possible, he snorted at her. _Yup. Ballsy, give ‘er that._ “Quit it.”

“Afraid I’ll get glitter paint flecks on you? It would be an improvement.”

“Tryin’ t’ listen. Gonna have comp’ny soon ‘nuff.”

Victor closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. Finding the footsteps again, he could place their direction, but a headcount was still hard to pin down.

 _Too many feet, not ‘nuff boots – is it a trick?_ “We need a spotter. Yer it.”

“Do you want me to go hysterically deaf? I’m not sticking my head up to get it shot off.”

“They want ya alive, ain’t nobody gonna shoot ya.”

“Did they tell you that while you were chewing off their faces? Seriously, dude?”

“Ain’t hit ya yet, have they? Had lotsa chances.”

“Just because some of those idiots are sucky shots doesn’t mean I’m off the hit list, y’know. Geez.”

Victor loomed over her and spread a sharp trademark grin across his face that made her shrink down as small as she could under it. “How ‘bout this: do it cuz I fuckin’ say so.”

Glaring up at him, she poked him hard in the ribs. He was so startled by it, he forgot to react. “Get off me, then.”

Victor growled as he rose to his feet. He crossed to the side of their dead end box where the footsteps had been approaching along Henry Street.

“This one – I climb, ya peek.”

“You suck.”

“Yup. Damn good at it, too.”

“Hey, I’m PG-13, so try not to overshare. I do not want to hear where you stick it on a regular basis.”

Hackles rising higher under his shirt and up his arms, he growled. “Ya stupid ‘nuff t’ call me a faggot?” He was surprised again as she studied him in silence, arms crossed over her flat narrow chest.  _Just a cub. Just a scrawny skin sack full o’ bird bones – easy t’ break, if’n she fuckin’ keeps pushin’ me._

“I don’t use that word – it’s offensive and my gay friends agree. Take a pill. Newsflash: I don’t like you because you mutilate, rape, and murder people to get your kicks. If you’re also into other stuff, great – but don’t share. Period. I don’t want to hear about it.”

“Ya do know tha asshole ya mascot fer does tha same shit. Hate t’ break it t’ ya – again.”

“He doesn’t rape.”

“Two outta three ain’t bad, huh?”

“Yeah, this isn’t even about me.”

She got up but paused to fish out her gum. This time, she didn’t hesitate about littering and the white paper wrapper fluttered down to the filthy concrete between them. The fruity sugar smell was an instant cloud around her.

“If I’m being forced to risk my life, I’m going out popping. That is what I do. What you do is pick fights until you get one. I’m not going to be your punching bag, pal. Also, if you do come at me with claws, teeth, or … anything else, I will pop your ass so hard that your eyes bleed. I won’t hesitate – threats or no threats. You know I spent years with Logan, learning every trick I could – well he taught me tons. Maybe I can’t escape you, but if you get any ideas past the bait ploy, I will defend myself.”

Zipping the pack back into her belt, the kid watched him coldly. She wasn’t calling his bluff; she was standing up to him – again. A reluctant budding respect for the tiny bold thing was born in him as he glared down at her.

Hissing, he ordered, “Pop quietly – we’re tryin’ t’ use stealth, here.”

“You got it.”

“All aboard, kid.” He knelt down to let her clamber up his back, amazed when she remained quiet.

Claws sliding out, he began the climb straight up, slowly. Brick dust fell in his wake, but every score of the claws was as silent as that gently falling dust. He could hear it – as he could hear the odd mix of boots and feet – but the enemy had no idea that he was on the move to discover their secrets.

Gaining the narrow roof, he crouched low and tugged at her shoe in fingertips to get her to dismount. “Keep low, follow my lead,” he whispered. “Other side o’ this roof, they’re comin’ down that street. Shut yer yap too, lessen yer answerin’ my question.” He stalked low and she followed. Stopping a few feet from the edge, he heard her whisper behind him.

“Which question is that?” Jubilee crept forward past him in a decent, almost feral, crouch.

The ridiculous idiot popped her gum as she looked, making him growl. As she ducked back down, he muttered, “How many are there?”

She glanced back him with wide eyes. “All of them, I think.”

Victor’s eyes narrowed into grim slits at her. “Lookin’ fer an actual number.”

The gum popped again. “Maybe fifty?”

“Fuck…” Ignoring her surprise, he growled low in his throat. _So they brought in more or Obinata’s source never saw all there was. Where tha fuck is tha Fixer? Don’t stand me up, Ebersol, ya pussy._

“So what now?” the kid whispered. A second later, she screamed as bullets pelted the roof around them.

Victor looked up with a snarl and spotted the shooter – a sniper on a higher roof a disturbing distance away. “Get under me.”

“In your dreams, be-yatch!”

Roaring his hate for them all, he jumped and knocked her flat under his torso as bullets that had been aimed for her slammed into his back. His weight nearly injured her, the strike of her head on the roof knocking her silly.

“Time t’ go, brat.”

He rose and grabbed her around the waist before leaping away across the rooftops to escape them. In one jump from roof to roof, he spotted more troopers in the alley below and solved the mystery of feet and boots: some of them were carrying their military-style footwear by the laces tied together over a belt.

_Bloody hell, that’s a Timchs trick – where ya hidin’, Revilo? An’ where’s yer damn boss? Fuck._

Victor could feel the bullets working in deeper as even the healed-over lumps sank down. Soon enough, they’d be too deep to remove with claws and could threaten vital organs. Growling, he steeled himself to ignore it all as he put his head down and ran.

Aiming for the Brooklyn Bridge, his course kept getting derailed by gunfire. At some point, he bounded across Chatham Square before getting driven off again, closer to the county and city government buildings.

Whenever the opportunity presented itself, he went up. As he finally gained enough ground and altitude, and got sick of the struggling and screaming of his clinging bait, he skidded to a halt and dropped her on her ass in a far cleaner hiding spot. The space was tiny at the sloped top of a skyscraper, occupied by a fancy statue capping the thing over their heads.

Jubilee gasped and put her back to the stone slope as the wind picked up. Victor flopped gratefully to lie next to her and stared out at the city. He wasn’t even sure yet where he’d run to. The hectic pace had made familiar landmarks blur. He began to study the buildings to get his bearings when she started up again, making him hiss.

“What the heck, dude? How many times are you going to whack me in the head? You nearly crushed me to death! And this? This is not safe!”

“Shut tha fuck up,” he rounded on her, and glared when she obeyed. “Gotta fig this shit out.” _That’s tha Metropolitan Correctional Center, with tha Moynihan Courthouse past it – which makes this tha David Dinkins Manhattan_ _Municipal buildin’. We’re not far from City Hall an’ tha Boss Tweed buildin’. So now what?_

“So much for those goons not shooting at me,” Jubilee muttered, knowing perfectly well he could hear her.

Glancing at the kid, he frowned. He might not have caught on to Hydra’s tricks yet, but she wasn’t wrong – too many of the last few rounds had been aimed right at her.

 _That’s a game changer monkey wrench. Maybe Ebersol doesn’t want ‘er after all? Why send troopers t’ hunt ‘er, then? What tha fuck is goin’ on?_ Victor hissed, his ears pinning as he ignored her alarm and fear. _Either way, gonna let filthy Hydra fill tha puffy kitten full o’ holes or what?_ Glaring out at the city, he growled. _Nope._

The wind shifted and he snarled as a scent hit his nose. Roaring, he spotted another sniper on a courthouse balcony across the way just as the shot hit him. The smell of it made his blood run cold. Frantic, he tore the large cylindrical projectile out of his chest, rending shirt and flesh to do it. Throwing it back at the sniper, it exploded in the air between them.

“Oh my god!” Jubilee shouted. “What was that?”

“Ain’t messin’ with that shit! Go rag doll and shut up, ya li’l bitch – now ain’t tha time t’ piss me off!”

He leaped with her under his arm and her scream rang out as they plunged down to the next available roof he could get to. Once he reached the ground, he paused long enough to let her piggyback again, mindful of trying not to pitch her off. Instinct pushed him to hit his top speed, but he growled and ignored it. She wouldn’t be able to stay on, and really disappearing wasn’t the goal.

 _Sure ‘bout that, ya bleedin’ idiot?_ He loped across Centre Street, dodging a car or two, and began to turn to avoid crashing into City Hall. _Two snipers or tha same one? Too far away t’ scent in this wind. How tha fuck did they know we’d be up there under tha Dinkins statue? Can’t use a mind witch on me!_

Troopers harried them time and again as they crossed City Hall Park, but they only had normal ammunition. Victor didn’t care if he was playing prey or not now – as long as he kept ahead of any snipers with exploding rounds.

_Same fuckin’ thing that brought me down at tha plant outside o’ Vancouver when Tabitha ran, thinkin’ I was huntin’ ‘er – but we were both bein’ hunted. It damn near blew my arm off. Startin’ t’ be less fun, Ebersol – yer gonna pay special fer that._

“Let me help!”

“What tha fuck ya squeakin’ ‘bout, now? Kinda busy, here.”

“I won’t blind you or hit you at all – let me hit them! If I can, I can help!”

“Ain’t no help if’n ya won’t kill! Think this is Romper Room shit?”

“Oh, the hell with you! Cope. Watch and learn, dude!”

She let go and executed a brilliant and insane rolling ditch to the grass. On her feet before he could lope back to her, she whirled away from him and blasted the next group of troopers that were the closest on their tail, her colorful plasmoids exploding their weapons in their hands.

“Well, fuck me runnin’,” he told her, put his back to hers and roared out a challenge. It was answered as more of them arrived – a lot more. “Gonna get more’n blood on ya at this rate – keep sharp, kid!”

“They aren’t going to be shooting at us once they’re in range – I am over these guys!”

“Pop away, then. Stay close!” They clearly planned to beat him with pure numbers. How many would it take to be too many? _Pile on ‘nuff hyenas an’ a lion’s gonna be up shit creek. Fuck! Gotta get outta this mess!_

Good as her threat, Jubilee was destroying their assault rifles right and left, but she would tire and deplete her power just like Tabitha had. They turned in a rough circle as different groups pressed in. Men, and some women, that the kid had disarmed went for pistols next. Anyone stupid enough to rush them was cut down by flashing claws.

Sirens were screaming all around and he knew he was close to being pushed into the red zone as he realized that he couldn’t remember when they had started up. The beast within was outraged as the amount of lead he caught doubled, but the feeling of a closing trap was driving him to bolt.

_What if Puss in Boots don’t recognize tha brat as a cub he wants t’ protect? Hang in there, asshole – gotta stay at tha wheel._

Victor twitched and turned when he caught the scent of the sniper – the first one. The man had climbed City Hall and was crouched down on a knee, taking aim.

 _How tha fuck are they movin’ so fast?_ “Time t’ run fer it – gotta get t’ Broadway,” he shouted behind him over the din to the kid. “Bastard with explosive bullets is back!”

“Why there?”

“Run now, pelt me with fuckin’ questions later!”

She turned and ran when he did, but he was faster. He scooped her up on the way to the sweet sound of traffic.

One arm holding her torso against his chest, he slashed through the troopers in his path, leaving them broken and bloody – but alive.

_These mooks can’t afford t’ let tha law catch their fallen comrades – might slow some o’ ‘em down._

By the time he tried to lose them by dodging through cars, he had Hydra and the NYPD on his ass.

 _With any luck, tha boys in blue’ll be after tha fascist pigs, too. Hope this bullshit don’t get tha attention o’ tha X-freaks. Fuck, fuck, fuck!_ Looming overhead down Broadway was lucky 233, an old neo-Gothic brute – the Woolworth Building. _Easy t’ climb fast an’ one helluva obstacle fer ground troops._ “Hey, shortcake – ya wanna play Kong an’ Faye Wray?”

“What?”

He gripped the kid’s body tighter and hit top speed.

Jubilee saw the target too late but began shouting when she did. “No, not up again! I hate up! Crap!”

Her arms squeezed his like a vise where he held her, and she turned her head to bury her face in his chest as he launched straight up.

~ ~ ~

“Oh God, oh God…”

Victor glared down at her as she clung to the railing of a small balcony at the top of the Woolworth Building where he’d put her. “Ain’t ya a former maybe woulda been Olympic gymnast? Kinda silly t’ be afraid o’ heights.”

“How many balance beams have you seen that were 500 feet in the air?”

“Try 792, which is ‘bout ten feet over our heads, at tha spire up there.”

“I am not looking up. I would so barf.”

“Shouldn’t be lookin’ down neither, I’m thinkin’.”

She whipped her head around to glare at him. “Are you? Can you think? Why are we here? How does this help?”

“It’s a bloody awful obstacle, that’s why, easy t’ climb, an’ tha crazy architecture gives decent cover. Ya happy?”

~Pop~ went the gum. “Happy? Oh yeah, dude – peachy. All better.”

“Gotta get outta sight while it takes ‘em a bit t’ regroup. Between Hydra an’ tha cops, they’re gonna have roadblocks an’ eyes all over, not t’ mention my personal fave, fuckin’ snipers.”

“This isn’t going how you planned, is it? Great. I’m so dead.”

“Shut up an’ lemme fig this out.”

“Shoor, take your time – I’ll just be over here watching my very short life flash before my eyes. Swallowing my gum in terror is not a last meal, y’know!” A vicious snarl cut off the tirade, yet under her breath, she muttered, “Gamble with your hide, you huge hairy freak, not mine.”

He ignored her muted defiance and took in everything else. The night was alive with sirens all around. The lights of police cars were thick on Broadway, Barclay, Park Place, and more.

_Flashin’ like Yank Christmas – Monopoly Board from Hell…_

“Hey! Tall, blond, and psycho – I got an idea.”

“Said shut up. Play damsel an’ zip it.”

Hands on hips, she glared at him. “I don’t damsel. Are you going to listen or not? You’re not coming up with anything.”

Growling, he faced her. “What?”

“Which building is that one? It’s all dark at the top.” The kid pointed.

Turning, he spotted the one she meant. “That’s 15 Park Row. Terrace and towers level down there is gutted, ‘sposed t’ be renovated, but nobody with tha give-a-shit can afford it.”

Jubilee’s little hands gripped the railing as she stared down. “All those cop cars are driving around, there’s a shootout with Hydra going on – no one is looking up. So – we jump, hide in one of those tower things. No lights, no people.”

Victor snorted. “Yer freaked out by bein’ up here, but ya wanna jump offa tha damn thing? Ya didn’t have fun last time.”

“I want to get home in one piece. Those shooty guys and gals keep tossing lead at me and appearing out of nowhere to do it. Fast.”

“Ya noticed that, huh?”

“Yeah. Years with Mr. Twitchy taught me tons, we covered that.”

Forearms leaning on the railing beside her, he studied the top of the other building. “From here, that’s nearly a 400 foot drop, gotta be 370 feet across.” He whistled, even as his heart thudded in his chest at the sheer insane thrill of it. _If’n it don’t work, it won’t kill me._ Glancing over at her, he frowned. _Kid would be paste._ “That might not be a distance that’s scrawled with tha other stats on tha back o’ my baseball card, shortcake. Can’t get any room fer a runnin’ start at tha top o’ this brute, neither.”

“What about launching off one of the gargoyles like a springboard?”

“Not doin’ that. It’d break.”

“Since when do you care?”

“Since I first read ‘bout architect Cass Gilbert finishin’ tha thing in 1913, in my mornin’ paper in 1913 – tallest buildin’ in tha world fer seventeen years. I ain’t defacin’ it.”

“Fine, ‘kay, no gargoyles, sheesh. If you felt the same about people’s entrails, more of them might like you.”

“Ain’t tryin’ t’ be liked, never was. Chasin’ shit like that’s just ‘nother way t’ let folks control ya. Not wild ‘bout yer plan, neither…”

Jubilee was trying to appear brave, but she was trembling. No amount of sugary gum could mask the thick fear scent around her. “I never said it was a good idea, but I’m not supposed to let you get bored, right?” She peered over the edge again, the gum popping as she mused with a matter-of-fact air, “Wolverine could jump it.”

Victor snarled. “C’mere.” She moved to climb his back, but he growled at her. “Yer twig arms ain’t gonna hold on fer a stunt like this, an’ those asswipes are probly already too close. Down in front.”

The kid hesitated, unsure what to do, so he just snagged her, smirking at her squawk of protest. As she was mashed against his torso, belly to belly this time – or near enough for a shrimp – he held her there with one arm again. She immediately began to fuss, pulling his concentration away from sorting out the best trajectory for the jump.

“Be still,” he ordered, nearly hissing the words.

Muffled against him, she muttered, “If this is how you get your rocks off, I am not interested, dude!”

It honestly took him a beat to figure out what on earth she was upset about, and then her next squirm rubbed over his growing erection. With a derisive snort, he groused, “Don’t flatter yerself, scrap, that’s adrenaline kicked int’ overdrive. Listen up – grip my belt tight in both hands, but yer playin’ rag doll again, got it? I’ll keep ya pressed in tight, but don’t try t’ wrap shit ‘round me or you’ll fuck this up. If’n ya do fuck up, keep this in mind – I’ll survive tha fall. Ya won’t.”

“Great encouraging speech, there, Hairy. Go team.”

“Shut up.”

He lined up his arm over her spine and cupped the back of her skull in a clawless hand as he began to move. Climbing up to crouch just under the base of the spire, he took a deep breath and let it out slow.

“Are you going to tell me not to scream?” she asked, speaking against his chest. “That might not be in my skill set. Oh, crud.”

“Ya an’ me both, pipsqueak.” He sank down into a powerful crouch and lowered his head to whisper in her ear, “Geronimo…”

Victor sprang up – not across or down – to get an arc, aiming at the open air over the target. The lurch of the jump stole their breath but at the apex of it, as they began to fall, dual screams were torn from both of their throats.

A shock of gunfire sprayed out as they fell and Victor gripped onto the kid tighter, his outstretched free arm ready with claws splayed to catch anything he could. They were falling short. Lunging in mid-air in a pure panic, his claws scratched the green patina of one of the copper pawn-shaped knobs over the gargoyles before they bit in around its base.

With one arm and both legs, he grabbed on with claws and barely managed to stop a harrowing slide down. Crawling up the Park Row façade fast, he gained the roof at last and peeled the kid off him, dropping her on her ass in the dark.

“Hit that tower, fast!” he ordered, and she got moving with impressive speed, ducking behind its curving side.

He followed and cut a glass pane out, nearly chucking her through into a heap on the floor inside. Not wanting to damage the structure, he climbed up to the longer upper window and cut it out to crash inside the tower.

“Hey,” she called up in a hushed pissy hiss, “stop tossing windows at me.”

It was still a tight fit for him, but like most cats, if he could get his head through, he could manage the rest. Landing in an ungraceful heap out of sheer mental exhaustion, he grinned as he unwound himself to sit up, ribs heaving.

“Hoo yeah!”

“So that ‘always lands on your feet’ thing is bogus?”

Ignoring her, Victor surged up and went to look out through one of the forward-facing windows as the kid collapsed on the wrought iron circular staircase at the center of the tower. His t-shirt was hanging off him oddly, likely shredded, but he couldn’t care.

“Dunno where tha fuckin’ shooter was hidin’, but shit, that was a hoot! With any luck, they didn’t see where we landed.”

Jubilee sighed. “I’d kiss the roof-sweet-roof, but it’s pretty filthy in here. Can we get away now? And maybe grab some grub?”

Still grinning, Victor turned to the window he’d cut the glass from, scenting as he went. “Sounds like a plan. Gotta finish ditchin’ tha assholes, first. Got me an idea fer that.”

The kid didn’t answer, her scent spiced with fresh fear. When he glanced back at her, she looked horrified.

“What now?”

“They shot you. Your back is … oh, my god. Yuck. Dude…”

“Think I dunno that? Listen up or our death-defyin’ escape ain’t gonna do us no good. Stay put in here, don’t make a peep, don’t light no sparks. Got it? No matter what.”

“I’m staying put while you do what, exactly?”

“Gonna go up and out, get seen runnin’ from this buildin’. Draw ‘em off, double back.”

“Uh, sure. Easy-peasy, right? While they see you without me and start a search for my pancaked gooey corpse?”

“Damn straight. Gonna actually sit tight? If’n I gotta chase ya, again, this shit might could go south quick.”

“With those trigger-happy creeps crawling around everywhere? I’ll sit. Unless they find me before you get back. Or I start to really die of starvation. I swallowed my gum, but it won’t hold me for long, got it? I might for real pop, dude. Fair warning.”

Victor shot her a sharp grin. “Back in a tick.”

His hunger tore at him and it was probably for the best to get away from her just then. She leaned away as he climbed up the stairs past her, barely pausing long enough to find out first if they could take his weight.

_Tha men who built these sky palaces – standin’ without ropes on tha tippy tops o’ ‘em like crazy monkeys – knew what they were fuckin’ doin’ an’ they didn’t short sheet nothin’._

Entering the cupola at the top, he found no glass in the openings there and slipped outside through one of them that faced Park Row. Leaping down and away, he tore off over the long narrow roof of the building, right along the edge. A pattering of gunshots told him he had their attention. Keeping one arm pressed against his chest, he hoped they would think he was still carrying the bait. Jumping down to other rooftops, he hit top speed and led them off on a merry chase.

As soon as the gunshots stopped, a few popping in the distance, he made a wide loop back with stealth. At one point, pausing to let screaming police sirens race by on the street below, he hid crouched in the dark on the side of a building and took in the stirred anthill of a city all around him.

_Ain’t felt this alive in a while out on my own. Needed this. Insane jump – a risk like that, fuck … feels good._

Moving back toward his bait as careful and slow as he could manage and still make decent time, he couldn’t have carved the grin off his face with his own claws.

~ ~ ~

Re-entry through the open cupola window was easier to do with more care since the slower pace back had helped calm him. Hunger still threatened to turn him savage, but he could control it better with his spirits as high as a kite.

The kid was sitting where he’d left her, on the bottom step below him, unaware he was back. Struck again with amazement that so much brass could be stuffed into such a tiny package, he ditched the impulse to scare her and allowed his claws to clack on the metal railing to alert her.

 _Probly a good plan not t’ spook ‘er when she’s this keyed up – hate ‘em damn flashpops in my face._ She twisted to look up at him and stared before gulping and looking away, reminding him that she was afraid of him anyway – he’d worked hard to ensure that. _Ain’t yer sidekick, idiot. Puffy kitten still hates ya._ “Climb out yer window,” he called down softly, “I’ll meet ya outside on tha roof.”

Victor led the way once he rejoined her, keeping watch all around as she followed him. It was quieter around the place, with the circus still going a distance away. The NYPD were keeping Hydra occupied for now.

_Good riddance, motherfuckers. Been fun rippin’ ya t’ bits, but it ain’t gettin’ me tha prey I want. Ebersol ‘parently ain’t tha sort t’ face what he aims ‘is troops at. Bloody coward. Time t’ regroup an’ come up with a better plan._

Finding a roof access door on the long end of the building, he clawed the lock and went down the stairs.

“We’re going into the building – where people are?” she whispered behind him.

“Cleanin’ staff areas, out tha back, while the circus goes tha other way. Can ya do sneaky or do tha gums flap nonstop?”

“Stealth mode, you bet.”

“Ready fer that rest an’ grub without tha offal o’ humanity as stinky scenery?”

“Oh, yeah – I could eat a moose without sauce.”

“Climb up, then – piggyback rides fer free, goin’ once.”

“But you’re … healed, of course. Doesn’t it still hurt, though? They’re in there.”

“I’ve had worse, but if’n I don’t eat soon, yer gonna start lookin’ mighty tasty.”

“Got it.” She mounted up easy with little assistance, already used to the differences and skilled at keeping her balance. “So where are we going to chill out and hopefully stuff our faces? With the whole city looking for people that look like us?”

“Headin’ fer tha Beekman – close by an’ top o’ tha line grub. Wealth has its perks, kid – they love havin’ my money grace their digs an’ they’re too fond o’ it t’ ever turn me in.”

“Awesome. Mush, dude.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter title is borrowed from a short story by Robert Connell published in 1924, which was later made into a movie in 1932, also called "The Most Dangerous Game". It involves a big game hunter who is shipwrecked on an island where the owner, a Russian aristocrat, likes to hunt humans and shoot them. He ends up being hunted with dogs by his host. Janet and the virgin taunts are a “Rocky Horror Picture Show” reference. During the Vietnam era, a platoon sergeant was affectionately referred to as the “Plat-Daddy”, and although the term has since faded, the role remains that of the “Father of the Platoon” – info courtesy of Military.com. Victor references another war movie, "All Quiet on the Western Front" (1930) about WWI, which he fought in. The hotel outside of Chinatown is real, at 49 Catherine Street, NYC. I’m sure it’s a nicer place than Victor implies – he can be weirdly snooty about luxury digs. I love the idea that he rips them off but feels bad about it. Giving him a bit of Robin Hood syndrome (is that a thing?) amuses me.
> 
> The idiom “ride the tiger” means to find yourself in a precarious situation. The phrase comes from “He who rides a tiger is afraid to dismount.” Meaning, once you find yourself in a dangerous circumstance, getting out of it can be even more potentially hazardous. It’s also a drug reference to being high on injected heroin; the volume markers on the syringe make up the stripes. Jubilee has seen a lot and heard a lot as Wolverine’s sidekick, so she knows both meanings of the idiom.
> 
> “I’ll take Nuremberg Excuses for $500, Alex” references the TV game show "Jeopardy", and Nazis on trial in Nuremberg who claimed they only followed orders and were not responsible for their war crimes. Rosemary Clooney also belongs to herself. "Rosemary’s Baby" is a 1968 psychological horror film adapted from a novel by Ira Levin. Victor has a movie star crush on George Clooney that predates his Tony Stark crush, but he’s never turned stalker on Clooney. Victor’s love of old buildings, some of which he’s older than, also amuses me. His admiration for the brave men who built many of the historic New York City skyscrapers could stem from his time building railroads with similar tough blue collar types. Poster boy for macho, white collar often seems weak to him – unless the man in question happens to be Tony Stark, LOL. Pretty much everyone knows about giant ape and film "King Kong". For the fun of it, I’ve decided my Victor’s favorite incarnation is the 1976 film with Jessica Lange as Faye Wray. Thanks for reading! - AnonGrimm (@MET_Fic)


	3. The Lion and the Lamb

Is it sick of me to need control of you  
Is it sick to make you beg the way I do  
Is it sick of me to want you crawling on your knees  
Is it sick to say I want you biting down on me  
Are you sick like me

Is it sick of me to feed the animal in you  
Is it sick to say I tease the hunter like I do  
Is it sick of me to watch the wicked way you thrill  
Is it sick to say I live to break your will  
Are you sick like me

Am I beautiful  
As I tear you to pieces  
Am I beautiful  
Even at my ugliest you always say  
You’re beautiful  
As you tear me to pieces  
You are beautiful  
Even at your ugliest I always say  
You’re beautiful and sick like me

Am I beautiful  
As I tear you to pieces  
You’re beautiful  
Even at my ugliest you always say  
You’re beautiful and sick like me

~ Sick Like Me (In This Moment)

“Don’t talk rot, Whitney,” said Rainsford. “You’re a big-game hunter, not a philosopher. Who cares how a jaguar feels?” ~ Richard Connell, _The Most Dangerous Game_

“Sometimes I think evil is a tangible thing – with wave lengths, just as sound and light have.” ~ Richard Connell, _The Most Dangerous Game_

*****************************************************************

Victor didn’t waste any time when he reached the Beekman hotel. He entered the narrow alley that ran alongside it and headed for the deliveries entrance. The moment an employee saw him, doors began to be opened to him with courteous respect, and he already knew none of them would bat an eye at his blood-spattered appearance. They were used to it.

He let the kid slip down from his back and led her inside.

“Bring me a manager,” he told the man who had let them in.

“Yes, sir – I’ll be right back.”

Jubilee didn’t even try to hide her surprise when the manager appeared and behaved like a long lost sycophant.

“Mr. Creed, it is always a pleasure to be of service. Do you require a suite? It would take just a few moments to make one of our turret penthouses available to you again.”

Knowing the man would preen over it and wanting the brat to see it, he dug this one’s name out of the jumble in his head. “Goin’ low profile this visit, Gonçalves; gimme a snug corner suite high up an’ have somebody fetch bubblegum fer tha kid – she’s been a bit stressed gettin’ shot at. Managin’ t’ keep ‘er free o’ holes has got me needin’ grub, so we’ll order when we get settled. Is Marechal workin’ t’night?”

“I’ll call him in, sir – he’ll be honored.”

“Good. Nobody but ‘im comes knockin’ with my dinner. Send whoever ya want with breakfast.”

“Of course. Follow me if you’re ready sir, and I will take you to your suite.” The balding thick fellow in an impeccable dark suit lead the way and Victor steered the kid to follow as he took up the rear.

They only got a glimpse of the magnificent old-fashioned lobby, but it still made the girl gasp. She went into the corner suite first when they reached it and seemed less star struck as she explored the quaint 600 square feet of luxury. Closing and locking the door after sending off Gonçalves, Victor watched her.

“Ya live in that monster o’ a Dutch mansion upstate, why’s tha lobby get a gasp?”

“It’s gorgeous, like an old movie set. There’s tons of tech all over the house, not to mention under it, so it’s easy to forget it’s old or grand. I barely notice most days. I grew up rich – until my folks were gone. We used to live in a massive house in Beverly Hills.” Her fingers stroked over a bespoke chair by the couch as she looked up at him standing in front of the door. “What now?”

“On tha desk, menus fer tha grub – two restaurants here, American an’ French. Fig out what ya want. They already know what t’ bring me.” She went right for the American one and headed for the phone. “Room service button only – tell ‘em yer order an’ t’ bring up mine. Then yer gonna find somethin’ else t’ do ‘til it gets here.”

Victor paced and listened as she put the order in. He wanted to get into the rain shower intensely. All the furniture was bespoke and he tried not to bleed on it as a rule – or get other people’s blood all over it.

When she was finished, he unplugged the phone and took it into the bedroom with him. “Watch TV if’n ya want, gonna grab a quick shower. Touch either door an’ ya won’t like what ya get – lessen ya wanna watch me scrub all tha blood off.” He winked at her and grinned. “Won’t bother me none – I’m worth an audience.”

“I’ll pass – I’ve seen my share of bloody hairy freak – especially lately.”

“I bet. Does Wolvie ever let ya top?”

After spluttering in outrage a moment or two, all she managed to get out was a heartfelt, “Gross!”

Laughing, he shut the bedroom door.

~ ~ ~

Emerging shortly after scrubbing everything clean, he ignored the ball of trauma on the couch in front of cartoons as she stared at his bathrobe and trailing ropes of damp blond hair. Marechal’s knock had been a polite three taps, but Victor had heard it while still toweling off his hair in the bathroom.

The cart the pretty young man pushed through the door was piled with food and a trio of bottles of his favorite booze.

“Anythin’ that ain’t my steaks is ‘ers, plus tha pop.”

“Yes, Mr. Creed.”

Victor watched him move the small round table and set trays out as the pretty thing’s heat scent thickened in the air. He eventually sat on the maroon armchair next to her blue couch and gave an eager growl when the serving platter full of warm and nearly raw beef steaks were placed near him on part of the table.

Jubilee snagged the plate full of cheeseburger and fries, curling up on the couch to eat like a starved waif with the plate in her lap and tall glass of Dr. Pepper tucked under it in the middle of her crossed legs.

The boy opened the first bottle of Glenfiddich for him and then smiled down at Victor’s predatory smirk.

“Do you require anything else, sir?”

“Not now – come back later, say a couple hours, t’ take out tha trays ... an’ maybe I’ll think o’ somethin’ by then.”

His hungry smile was as amusing as the kid’s expression of surprise as she chewed and watched them both. “Of course, sir – enjoy your meal, Mr. Creed … and young miss.”

With a slight bow, he took the cart out with him, but his delicious scent lingered. Breathing deep to drag it into his lungs, Victor popped claws and dug them into the dead meat instead. Silent as she ate, the girl continued to watch him, wary and subdued.

“Ya got ‘nuff t’ eat there, kid?” She gave him one nod. “Gonna go all quiet on me tha second I get used t’ yer non-stop yammerin’? I ain’t ‘bout t’ grow ‘nother head on my shoulders, so ya can relax tha stare.”

When she looked away to watch cartoons again, he snorted and got to the business of scarfing down the meat. Glancing over at her now and then as she ate, he arched an eyebrow when the purr rumbled up in his throat.

 _That how it’s gonna be, huh?_ he asked his inner beast. _Ya know, if ya feed ‘em, they follow ya home._ The kid startled when he snorted, but he ignored her. “Should get some shut-eye, try t’ rest while they ain’t found us. Take tha bed.”

“You’re huge, I’m compact – the ratio here speaks for itself. Besides, after your last performance, I may never be able to sleep on a bed ever again.”

Victor shrugged with a smirk. “Yer call, but there’s a full-size sofa bed hidden in there.” He rose and pulled the blackout curtains closed, went to the switch and used the dimmer to leave the suite in a murky gothic gloom. He carried the bottles into the bedroom but then came back out with the open one and reclaimed his chair.

“Looks like we’re hangin’ out t’gether a bit longer, shortcake – my paranoia wants t’ make sure no fuckin’ snipers’re gonna scale tha damn buildin’.” He drank from the bottle and smirked at her when she tried to stop and hide a yawn. “Plannin’ t’ stay awake tha whole time?”

She reached to slide the empty plate onto the table, grabbed the new pack of bubble gum on the tray there, and sat back to nurse her glass of fizzy pop. “This isn’t hanging out. You kidnapped me and you’re using me for bait.”

The disgust in her tone stung him more than it should have. _Butt out, Puss in Boots – she ain’t gonna start likin’ ya one burger away from bein’ hauled all over town in a hail o’ lead._

Her gaze shifted to the open bedroom door before returning to meet his focused stare without flinching. “Let me at that phone, you could get out of this. I can call in the cavalry.”

“Maybe I don’t want outta this. I’m havin’ fun. Def ain’t gonna call in tha X-idiots – I don’t get along with yer regular babysitters, ya know.”

“I wouldn’t describe my weekend as a barrel of monkeys, dude.”

“Then ya ain’t lookin’ at it right. If’n yer not a thrills junkie, why stay with Chuck’s militia at all? Past a pointless crush on tha runt, ya could be doin’ anythin’ ya want. What is it, ya don’t wanna be poor an’ homeless? California probate ate up yer dead parents’ money, an’ Chuckles won’t help ya get on yer feet somewhere, huh? Typical old-money asswipe. Least he could do is teach ya t’ dress better – ‘is very own Li’l Orphan Annie.”

“Shut up!” she flared.

“Or what?” He grinned when she wilted. Taking a long pull on the bottle, he wiped his mouth with the bathrobe sleeve. “Ya look like what a dog threw up – or a blind hippie’s couch.”

“Why don’t you just call your chew toy back and leave me alone?”

“Oh, I’m plannin’ t’, but maybe I’ll make ya watch – like last time.”

“You told me not to watch. I’ve seen those horn dog looks on a feral mug before y’know, but usually they’re aimed at a curvy skank.”

“Skank, huh?” He laughed outright. “Still gonna try t’ pretend ya ain’t got tha kiddy hots fer ol’ Wolvikins? He ain’t never gonna see ya as nothin’ but a kid. See, he’s int’ big ol’ hooters like Red’s got – silo tits, mmm, mm – nothin’ like ‘em. Mosquito bites ain’t no fun.” His smirk grew and curled cruelly, scenting blood in the water. “Now a fella like me ain’t so picky.”

Glaring as rage she didn’t dare show paled the initial blush on her cheeks, she tried to change the subject.

“How do you know we’re really safe here? These people keep calling you Mr. Creed. If Hydra just checks the books, they’ll know where we are.”

“My name ain’t on tha books an’ this particular branch o’ Hydra are dumber’n moose shit. ‘Sides, even goin’ door t’ door – not easy with tha NYPD on their tail – these folks ain’t gonna say they saw me. They know what I’d do t’ ‘em if’n they did.” Holding out the bottle, he tipped it toward her. “Wanna snort in yer bubbly? Might could help ya sleep.”

“No thanks.”

“Suit yerself.”

Grinning, he chugged it and let the bottle thunk onto the table. Thoughts about the night’s games he had planned nudged his dick awake and he palmed it and gave it a shift for more room under the robe before he slumped down farther in the chair to relax.

Victor watched as the tension leaking from her almost made her choke. He didn’t have to wonder why she wouldn’t step foot in the bedroom or try to sleep. The implication would have pissed him off if making her sweat bullets wasn’t so entertaining.

Apparently nerves kicked in her faulty chatterbox function. “So if you’re really just trying to kill more Hydra guys, why are we in hiding?” She drank more pop and watched him warily but expectantly. “I came up with the last brilliant plan, and I’ve blown a lot of their guns to bits to save our butts, too – don’t you think I’ve earned knowing what’s really going on?”

Huffing out a sigh, he leaned his head back against the wall and stared up at the ceiling. He began to talk before he knew he wanted to.

“Makin’ Hydra bleed is never a waste o’ my time but truth is, I ain’t gotta world o’ time t’ spend on ‘em right now. I want tha boss o’ this group, asshole named Paul Ebersol, a.k.a. the Fixer. If’n he weren’t a fuckin’ coward, I’d have had a shot at ‘im by now. Need a new plan but too wiped t’ think o’ one before catchin’ some Zs.”

“This Fixer guy is bad, huh?”

“‘Hydra boss’ should really be ‘nuff fer ya, kid.”

“Well, yeah, ‘kay…” Finishing off the pop, she put the glass on the table and tucked the new gum pack into her belt. “If anybody climbs all the way up here, you’ll hear it. So go get some sleep. I call the couch, though.”

“Ya don’t wanna shower? Hotel’ll bring ya clean clothes – mine’ll be here in tha mornin’ – or afternoon, since it’s ‘bout t’ be mornin’ soon ‘nuff.”

“Not on your life. I’ll scrape off your stench at home.”

“Yer assumin’ a lot, there, but hey – dream big, huh?” Victor rose and stretched as all the claws popped out at once, yawned solely to display a mouth full of lethal teeth. “It’s cute how everybody thinks wearin’ clothes would stop me from bendin’ ‘em over on a whim. Sleep tight, Short Round – don’t forget t’ check fer monsters under tha hide-a-bed.”

He strolled off to the bedroom but didn’t shut the door. Picking up the phone in there that was actually plugged in, he called room service to have the boy sent back up. Sure the kid heard it, he chuckled. She’d hear a lot more before the tasty thing left.

~ ~ ~

Claws pinned the pretty creature’s back, keeping him down on his belly on the luxurious sateen Sferra linens. The little slut had already cum on them and the perfume of his seed might actually help him sleep – if he managed to stop shoving in and fucking the slick messy hole over and over.

The sounds it made under his weight were like helpless prey which spurred the claw tips in a bit deeper. Growling over the trembling tender flesh, Victor pushed his cock inside it again.

“If’n I said I wanted t’ kill ya … would ya scream?”

“Tell me that’s what you want … and I will – but then I wouldn’t be here for you … next time.”

“Damn – leave it t’ tha pretty things t’ call my bluff in tha best way. Gonna fuck ya bloody, though. It’s ‘bout nothin’ but my pleasure – ain’t that right, ya li’l bitch?”

“Yes, Mr. Creed – please do it, anything, do it all – please…”

Inspired by the begging and the scent of tears, he thrust harder, tearing roughly into the tight slicked hole until he painted it white again – and red.

He backed off and pulled out fast and brutal, hissing at the clipped yelp and whimper. Sitting up on the edge of the bed, he let his cock hang down between his legs. After all that, now the fear scent came on thick. He knew why, and it made him angry.

“Get up. Make me wait an’ I’ll start openin’ up veins. C’mere. Where ya belong.”

With the scents and the sounds of pain, it was hard not to just leap and roll it under him. He wanted to bite it, to dominate, to eat.

 _Still wounded, no tellin’ how many bullets… Think o’ somethin’ else._ Unbidden, the memory of Tony sucking the head of his dick in the cabin of his cargo plane made it twitch where it hung. _Why not? This one hates it, an’ he likes bein’ treated like shit. I’m nothin’ if’n I ain’t an accommodatin’ fella._

Struggling to remain in control of himself, he growled. The boy limped to him and stood with shaking legs between his thighs. Blood and cum ran in little lines in different directions between the light hairs on the pale flesh. It reminded him of kanji brush paintings in Japan. With a hiss, he reached around and retracted claws on two fingers barely in time before shoving them into the hole to make the blood run down them. The body winced, trying not to cry out or crumple.

Pulling them out, he licked the delicious drips as the prey watched and whimpered. Then he used bloody fingertips to mark the white thigh with a kanji symbol, pushing inside for more of the precious red ink. When it was done, he sucked the fingertips suggestively.

“That’s a Japanese kanji fer ‘possession’. Do it.”

Obeying, he fell more than sank to his knees and a sniff detected a bit of bile already rising in the slender throat.

“Ya got it dirty, ya worthless piece o’ shit. Clean it.”

Watching him lift and begin to suck it artlessly, Victor placed a foot over the kanji symbol and let his claws prick it.

“Harder or these holes get deeper. Ya like tha taste o’ yer ass an’ my cum? Yeah, ya do. Suck, motherfucker.”

His head fell back and he closed his eyes. Trying to just feel the sensation on the head as the foreskin retracted, he wanted to remember how it had felt in Tony’s mouth, but Tony had wanted to suck him – then.

Eventually, the bruised and bleeding prey managed to get him ready again as memories of Tony’s body filled his head. He tried to remember the times in the workshop and alien concrete house when they had been passionate and Tony had wanted him. What came out of the jumble was the harsh mating in Hawaii, when his mate had come to him – to be punished.

A growl was torn from his throat before he realized the scents of fear and bile had alchemized that dark festering loneliness and helpless confusion inside him into a cruel anger. He gripped the hair and forced the weak thing on its knees to take more, choking it on his cock. With a twist to the head by the hair, he stared as it tried desperately not to fight.

 _Tony would hate ya fer this…_ He snarled at the random thought but then relented. _Slow down, ya don’t wanna kill it … ‘im. Ya don’t wanna kill ‘im._

Feeling the vicious instinct fade back, the anger remained. Flashes of being forced to his knees in the cold, afraid and bleeding, fueled it.

_Ease up, asshole, ya like this toy – gonna break it in a second._

He gave him a short jabbing thrust or three before letting him breathe. Slowly, he dug the claws on his toes into the thigh more until the flesh bled again.

 _Scent o’ fresh blood’s always better._ “If’n ya wanna play ‘just tha tip’, I’ll let ya stroke it off while ya suck, but that’s a privilege, comes with a price. Other hand, finger yer ass – hard, fast. Suck it like ya mean it while ya do that. More yer ass hurts, more hot I get. Make me come, swallow it all, an’ I’ll let ya go home in one piece. Bore me, an’ I’ll skull fuck ya t’ tha root o’ tha thing. Got all that?” Pale and still reeking of blood, bile, and fear, he nodded as the head of the dick rubbed the lips. “Good. Open wide.”

The cruelty plumbed the depths of his forgotten past, soothing a hurt he refused to acknowledge aloud in the waking world – when he had been the shuddering broken thing on small bruised knees.

Turning away from it as he always did, he watched the terrified young man who hated doing this and making him do it abruptly curled into pleasure in his gut. His breath came shorter as it began to sharpen toward release.

 _Should tell ‘im t’ stop makin’ tha pain sounds – but I love that shit too much._ He couldn’t see the fingers as the boy obediently hurt himself, but the face was tight and ruddy with the abuse.

The moment of his cum bursting into that hot disgusted mouth caught him by surprise. The wretch tried to swallow it all and barely managed it, his tongue licking his lips to get the stray drops even as his stomach churned with sickness.

It was only then, after, that he realized the toy had come again, making a slick white mess over the bloody thigh and Victor’s foot.

 _Fuck. Nice._ “Good boy,” Victor praised him, with an ugly smirk. “Ya got what ya wanted. Now get outta my sight.”

Wanting his solitude back didn’t stop him from drinking in the sight of the wounded body pulling on clothes as soundlessly as he could. The white shirt was clean only for moments until another kanji image soaked into it from the many scratches on the back. Before he could try to sort out what it might say, it smeared as the trembling thing turned and struggled to pick up and put on the rest.

“Thank you, sir,” he whispered, with a proper bow and scrape. “Thank you.”

Before he allowed the boy to limp out of the suite, he ordered him not to wake the kid in a voice loud enough to wake the kid – just in case. Hearing her sharp intake of breath under the sound of the trays and dishes being taken out made him chuckle.

Victor rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. By the time the suite door clicked and the automatic lock engaged, he could hear the brat trying to keep her breathing even and regular.

 _Odds are, she heard it all. Take that, Puss in Boots. Gonna find a way t’ change up tha game, so ya can quit puffin’ yer tail over tha runt’s useless loudmouth brat – we ain’t gonna need ‘er no more soon ‘nuff._ He beat the pile of pillows into submission and tried to get comfortable, breathing in the delicious smell of violent sex all around him.

~ ~ ~

The first of probably many nightmares woke him up in a snarling cold sweat. He caught the kid’s scent coming closer and his eyes popped open to stare at her figure in the doorway, enhanced by his mutant vision in the dark room. She was holding a large long pillow from the linen closet.

Growling low at her, he groused, “What tha fuck do ya want?” To his surprise, she tossed the pillow to the foot of his bed.

“Sometimes I hold onto one of those when I’m having nightmares – cuddle it or destroy it, either way, it might help.”

Victor snagged it as he rolled to his side and leaned on it like the rest. “Should I be suspicious?”

“Why, because I’m being nice to you? Gimme a break. Feral nightmares can get dicey for everybody – I’m still looking out for number one.”

The sheet was almost not covering his hips and he didn’t bother with it. She wasn’t brave enough to look anyway. “Did ya offer tha boy one o’ ‘em pillows when he left? He might need t’ sit on it fer a bit.”

She managed a shrug but her laidback stance was an obvious mask. “He sounded like he wanted to be here, and you didn’t eat him at least. None of my beeswax, right?”

“Wouldn’t be, willin’ or no.”

“Yeah, well, Danger Boy isn’t my problem. If he wants to go after a violent psycho boyfriend, that’s his thing.”

Victor snorted. “He’s gotta wife, pretty thing – straight as an arrow, both o’ ‘em, accordin’ t’ ‘is nervous yammerin’ on tha first visit. But ‘is woman before that was a kinky Domme type an’ he misses tha peggin’, humiliation, an’ punishment. New woman’s too milquetoast. So he ain’t a fag at all – near gags an’ tries not t’ spew when I make ‘im suck it. Me, I don’t much care what kinda package tha convenient holes come in. Surprise, surprise.”

“I’m just surprised you keep using that word, if it offends you to be called that. I bet you’re just saying this stuff hoping to upset me. That last jump sort of wiped my brain, so I’ll need a mani-pedi or something to reset my gauge – then you can try again. Hopefully, Logan will have all six claws in you before then, though.”

Victor’s initial smirk at her sass faded as other ghosts, far less fearsome than those that drove him to madness, crowded in on the heels of her words and tone. Anger and the comfort of cruelty left him and the hollow nameless hurt crept back in.

_Lyin’ in bed in ‘er arms, sharin’ secrets an’ pain. Tabitha... She gave me ‘er body an’ made me feel safe. Such a tiny thing – how’d she do that? Before it all went wrong, before tha end … how it felt is fadin’. Don’t wanna forget. Need t’, maybe._

“What is it?” the girl whispered, fear sparking as she watched him. “Do you hear bad guys? Badder guys?”

The night was quiet around them. All the havoc was inside him. “Naw, it’s safe. Nothin’ bad out there.”

“Yeah, safe out there, shoor – all the danger is in here.” She began to turn to go back out but then paused and faced him again. “I shouldn’t, but… Is something wrong … with you? Besides the obvious.”

The way she leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed and frowning, but lingering, braving the danger – it made his heart sink.

 _She’s gone, even when ya see ‘er – hold ‘er – just gone, as much as tha rest. Alive or dead – outta yer reach._ “Sometimes ya remind me o’ Tabitha,” he muttered. Startled at the heartfelt admission to the runt’s pet, he frowned and tried to spark another baiting taunt. “Ya sorta talk like ‘er, too. Guess it’s tha age – yer both modern horrors o’ aimless youth culture.”

The girl wilted a bit and held herself closer as she shivered. “What did you do to her? She won’t talk about it. She’s so not into hearing your name, she won’t even stay in the room if the rest of us start to badmouth you.”

Her words pierced him. As all pretense and defenses leaked away, the loneliness and loss he’d tried to hold at bay since setting foot in this city poured in as it tried in vain to fill the abyss.

Forcing himself to answer, he spoke softly, “Didn’t know she was back with ya. Did she re-up with tha brat pack?”

“No, she moved to California, somewhere. I’m officially jealous. Sometimes she visits up here and we get to go shopping. Things are tense back home, seems ridiculous now, but… That’s why I took off – sort of having a solo window shop because I miss her. She could always make me forget my problems.” The kid watched him closely. “What did you do to her?” she asked again in a whisper.

“Can’t tell ya that, girl. It’s ‘er biz. If’n she wanted ya t’ know, ya would.”

“You seem ... sad.”

Her tone had shifted softer, striking a chord in him. All at once, he didn’t care about posturing anymore. Tabitha was lost to him and it still hurt more than he could fully understand or cope with.

“Regardless o’ how she feels ‘bout yers truly … I miss ‘er, too.”

“Really? Wow, ‘kay... I won’t ask.”

“‘Preciate that, Short Round.”

“I should … yeah. I’ll go.”

He was likely to pass out before the kid would, but she seemed mollified enough as she shut his door and returned to the couch to pretend to sleep. If she got up to any tricks, he’d hear and scent it.

As he drifted off, his brain was still circling around one thing she had said about Tabitha. It was what he hadn’t realized that he needed to hear before he could let go.

_She won’t stay in tha room if’n tha rest o’ ‘em start badmouthin’ me... Thanks, darlin’._

~ ~ ~

Victor woke with a start and his stomach dropped at the thought that he might have cried out. In the sitting area of the suite, all was quiet except for the light sound of the kid breathing easy. On the couch, which she hadn’t pulled out into a bed, she was dead to the world.

He tried to relax again in the messy pillows and sheets and began to think it all out. His back alley kill strategy had been fun, but it wasn’t giving him what he needed. Hydra had also upped the stakes in weapons, and snipers with exploding rounds were something he wanted to avoid.

_Not t’ mention crazy ninja snipers – gotta be new tech or mutants o’ some stripe; hard t’ nail down by scent when tha lead flies. Hope it ain’t what it seems t’ be – if’n those bastards can teleport, nobody’s gonna have a good day._

Through the blackout curtains, he could scent that the sun was up but the heat was beginning to fade from the glass. They had slept through the day and soon it would be night again.

Distracted by the discomfort and occasional pain of bullets in his flesh, he dropped the bathrobe on the bed and returned to the rain shower. Knotting his hair up at the base of his skull, he used claws to cut out the ones he still could, rinsing the blood away. The rest would have to wait.

Drying off and putting the robe on again, he called for food to be brought up – a mix of breakfast stuff the kid might like and plenty of meat. The cart could deliver his fresh clothes, too.

The moment he opened the bedroom door, the girl woke and sat up, grabbing a yellow throw pillow to hold it against her.

“Light sleeper, huh?”

“A handy skill around all ferals.”

Victor responded with a snort, “What, Wolvie ain’t a puppy fer ya? Putty in yer hand?”

“As if.”

“Ya must not be scratchin’ ‘is belly right. I bet Phoenix can get that foot twitchin’ – red rocket in no time flat.”

“You are so gross. Way too early for gross, dude.”

Victor chuckled. “Ain’t early. Hungry?”

“Um … shoor.” She shifted and peeked around the heavy curtain to look out. “We slept all day?”

“Needed it.” Claiming the armchair again, he tried to relax but his problem had him wound up. _Ebersol ain’t gonna face me in a back alley no matter how many o’ ‘is grunts I slaughter. Revilo Timchs usually cares more’n that fer ‘is troopers, so maybe he’s under orders t’ stay outta sight. Still dunno if’n they want tha brat or not – or dead or alive if they do. Gotta get sneakier, need a plan that’ll gimme a shot at ‘em. Ebersol’s a coward … how can I use that t’ flush ‘im out?_

He waved to the kid to get the door when the knock came and ignored her and the older male server when it was set up. He didn’t shake it off and sit up until a rich dark coffee was poured into a mug in front of him. Cream and sugar, lots of it, a pile of ham and bacon – he was set.

The door closed again and the kid came into view on the couch as she dove into the plate piled with pancakes and scrambled eggs. Ignoring the coffee carafe, she went for the orange juice.

“Not a java fan?”

“Stunts your growth.”

Victor arched an eyebrow at her. “‘Parently not.”

She actually grinned at that, to his surprise. “You’re not a tipper?”

“It all goes on my tab. Didn’t bring cash fer this nutso caper.” Pouring fixings into the mug, he drank it and sighed. He ate in silence, which didn’t last long.

“So you have think face.”

“‘Bout t’ have shut-tha-fuck-up face.”

“I don’t do shut up much.”

“Noticed that.”

She was quiet as long as she was stuffing her face, but once that void was filled, the mouth reengaged for its other main function once more.

“For our death jump, you didn’t let me piggyback or grab on to you – if I had, they would have shot me, a lot. You missed a chance to off me, there – so maybe you don’t mind letting me go home. They’re trying to kill me, and that makes me pointless as bait, right?”

“Maybe killin’ ya is their point. Can’t see why they’d care lessen they’re aimin’ t’ get tha runt’s attention.”

“I have more worth than just ‘make Logan mad’, y’know.”

“Not t’ me ya don’t – not t’ ‘em neither, I’m thinkin’.”

“Well … you still saved my life. Thanks.”

“That better be Stockholm Syndrome settin’ in an’ not ya tryin’ t’ make me soft over ya.”

“I’m just saying thank you, sue me. So what are you so tied in knots over? Aren’t dudes supposed to be relaxed after they get some? Logan nearly goes into a coma post-skank. Massive snoring. Which you don’t. Weird.”

He growled, exasperated, but tried to ignore her. _Thought makin’ a fool o’ Ebersol might draw ‘im out. Arrogant chip on ‘is shoulder tippin’ over as I turn ‘is men int’ blood puddin’ – but he’s too big a chickenshit t’ stand up on ‘is own hind legs like a man._

“Anyway,” the kid continued to babble, impervious to being ignored, “we took a big gamble on that crazy jump, me more than you, but hey, it worked.”

“What tha fuck did ya say?”

“It worked?”

“A gamble…” He finished off the coffee after the meat was gone and got up to pace, unconsciously growling as the pieces fell neatly in line. _How t’ make a coward brave ‘nuff t’ face ya – meet ‘im in a joint where he thinks he’s safe. Fuck. That might could work._

“Maybe you need decaf, dude.”

“Finish up an’ keep quiet, need t’ make a call. Get yer shit wired tight, we’re on tha move soon.” He grabbed the brown paper parcel tied with twine from the cart and didn’t bother to shut the bedroom door.

Heading for the phone, he called one of his least favorite clients. The short Italian lost no time asking him again to take a protection gig he wanted nothing to do with. He could scent the kid hanging about in the doorway but didn’t care if she overheard this part.

“Hear me out, Paganucci. How fast can ya get t’ tha Big Apple? Need ya here t’night, couple hours, tops. Ya gotta jet that’ll make that happen.” Impatiently waiting for the man to babble on about how busy he was, he finally interrupted him. “Make me a happy man, scratch my back, maybe I’ll scratch yers.” Glancing up to glare at the kid, he put a hand over the receiver and hissed at her. “TV, now. Watch yer cartoons – an’ shut tha door, lessen ya wanna watch me get dressed instead. If’n ya stay, might could make ya help.” She disappeared quick and slammed the door. Victor smirked.

“What was all that?” Paganucci asked through the phone handset.

“My latest reluctant guest. So start headin’ this way – an’ contact Paul Ebersol. Calls ‘isself tha Fixer, with Hydra. Ya know how t’ get hold o’ any-fuckin’-body.”

“I want no dealings with Hydra, we agreed on that years ago.”

“Yup, I know – if’n ya wanted t’ play footsie with ‘em ya wouldn’t get tha use o’ my services.”

“I hardly do now.”

“Need ya t’ pretend yer lookin’ fer new friends. I think Ebersol either wants my guest or he wants me – ‘is grunts have been shootin’ at us all last night, but he won’t come out t’ play with me. He’s mine, an’ I want ‘im alive. So yer gonna help me an’ then we’ll talk ‘bout yer gig.”

“Oh, very well, I’ll be there. For you. What is it you want me to pretend, exactly?”

A sharp grin spread over Victor’s face as he explained. When he hung up, he pulled the new black jeans and a black Armani dress shirt from the parcel and dressed fast. Socks and decent black work boots that actually fit impressed him. The thick leather belt had a heavy iron buckle shaped like a skull. The addition of a wide boar bristle wooden hairbrush and band tie with the clothes made him chuckle.

_Somebody in guest services has figged out what I like – they do know how t’ keep a fella comin’ back._

Leaving the bedroom to find the kid, he made her scramble out of the way as he sat beside her on the narrow couch.

“Ya got any fancy braids skills?”

Without waiting for her to reply, he handed the brush and stretchy band over. Turning to give her his back, he left her staring at the wrapped bun of hair at the nape of his neck as she clutched the brush.

“I … can sort of manage a herringbone. Really, this is what we’re doing? ‘Kay…”

Her slender fingers were surprisingly gentle as she undid the hasty bun and briskly brushed it out with the efficiency of someone who had experience with long hair. The brushing and braiding felt good, and it was all he could do to not sit there purring.

 _Typical. Once I protect ‘em often ‘nuff an’ then feed ‘em, tha beastie gets all pride-brained. Won’t matter in tha long run – I disappoint ‘im a lot._ “Last call on a shower o’ yer very own,” he offered when her braiding was done.

“I’ll pass. If you’re staying in here for a bit, does the bathroom have a lock?”

“Watchin’ folks piss ain’t one o’ my kinks. Go on.” He smiled as she huffed and then nearly bolted for the bathroom. Moving to the armchair, Victor worked through his plan, looking for holes.

When the girl returned, she flopped back onto the couch. “Are we going somewhere that requires fancy? One designer shirt over goth redneck duds does not formalwear make.”

“Yeah? Folks that look like a human road flare shouldn’t comment on fashion, kid.”

Crossing her arms over her chest with a glaring frown, she tried again. “Where are we going?”

“Takin’ ya t’ a bar.” He rose and offered his hand to help her up. She ignored it.

“I’m not old enough to get into bars.”

“This one won’t care. Put yer game face on, shortcake. We got us a mission t’ run.”

Jubilee walked beside him with his hand on her shoulder. He used it to steer her out of the room and down the hall.

“Do I get to know what we’re doing?”

“All good things t’ ‘em that wait fer that shit, girl.”

~ ~ ~

A limo from the Beekman hotel drove them northwest. The area around the Woolworth Building was still a hive of activity, but they slipped away from it undetected. On the Hudson River side of Manhattan, Hell’s Kitchen waited; in the neighborhood’s murkier depths, a very odd bar was hidden in plain sight. When the limo stopped and the driver got out to open doors, Victor waved him off.

“Why are you sending the car away? This is … the middle of disgusting nowhere. I need a tetanus shot just to stand here!”

“Bitch, bitch, bitch. This here’s uptown compared t’ our dumpster couch – plus free peanuts.”

Turning to face what looked like a derelict old wooden fence with layers of waterlogged paper ads all over it fluttering in the light hot breeze, he grinned down at her.

“Better mind me in there or ya could get hurt by somebody else ya piss off, ‘sides me. Den o’ reprobates with short fuses, all gathered in one spot t’ blow off steam an’ get wasted. Just my kinda dive.”

With one hip cocked, crossed arms and a pouty frown, the kid was the very picture of not amused.

“What now? Pull up yer big girl panties or man up, whichever ya prefer.”

“Major duress.”

“Shut it.”

He reached into what looked like a hole in the fence and gave it a pull – opening the wide outer door. Behind the fence was a ratty bar that time forgot. It had no front windows, just a red brick crumbling façade with a pair of worn wooden doors sporting narrow long windows of thick bullet-proof glass.

Inside, the style was shabby eclectic sheik decorated with evil clown and freakshow art, and wooden sculptures of skulls, demons, and insects. The whole place was wood paneling that sported many a stain or burn mark. To one side of the long carved wooden bar was the door to the restrooms with the usual wet puddle leaking from underneath. It was hard to tell anymore which door back there was for what gender. Victor couldn’t recall ever worrying about it, and he’d been coming here longer than any of the other patrons had been alive. The owner was a friend – otherwise, he’d have eaten him and acquired it by now.

Over the bar was his favorite feature and the mascot of sorts: a huge wooden Japanese Oni horned demon ogre mask, painted red and covered by yellowing and flaking varnish. Its horns curved back like a goat. Narrowed wicked eyes and a wide-toothed violent grimace enhanced the effect that it was maybe watching you, no matter where you moved in the large long room. Beyond all that, it was an average dive bar with pool tables, darts, and drunks. Booths were lined along the end walls, and lots of little tiny private rooms intended for all sorts of fun activities were tucked all around the taproom. It was a pile of dirty booze-soaked rubbish – that also happened to be one of his favorite places on the globe.

The moment he pushed Jubilee in ahead of him, she took one sweeping glance at the main taproom and gasped. “This is Satan’s Circus, has to be – you can’t take me in here. They won’t let you.”

“Let me?” he asked with a sharp Cheshire grin. “C’mon, girl – yer holdin’ up progress.”

Catcalls and whistles followed them in and he chuckled when the kid shrank closer to his side. He ignored them all and headed for the center of the bar. Patrons scattered to give him a pair of barstools, but he didn’t let the kid sit on one. Enjoying her squawk, he sat and picked her up, depositing her on his lap.

“If looks could kill, shortcake. Whataya so fussed ‘bout? It’s just a bar.”

In a stage whisper, she spoke close to his pointed ear as he grinned. “This is just a bar – for villains, killers, and…” The crowd moved closer in his wake and she trailed off, staring at some of the more notorious or disturbing people around them.

“Yup. Ya wanna pop?” Turning to the bartender, he asked, “Ya got Dr. Pepper, Maurice? Ya know my fave poisons.”

“Highbrow or low?”

“Low – t’night, I need a periscope just t’ look up outta tha gutter. Open up a tab.”

When the tall and gaunt man that looked like a bald cadaver set her fizzy pop down in a highball glass, Jubilee took a while to stop staring. Victor’s bottle of Old Crow rotgut bourbon followed with a thick whiskey glass.

“Can I have my own stool?”

“Nope.”

“Creed! What is this, BYOC night?”

Victor growled. “Ain’t no way t’ speak t’ my property, Petros – not lookin’ fer other comp’ny, neither.”

The Greek man backed off with his hands up. “Meant no harm, man.”

“Property?” the girl twisted her body to face him, nearly hissing the words in his ear. “Who is that? What is he trying to spell?”

“Quit squirmin’ or yer gonna trigger yer fear o’ heights with a few more rubs like that,” he answered in a low tone.

Her fist came up coupled with an ugly scrunched frown, but he caught her wrist and held it.

“That was Dominic Petros, Avalanche t’ ‘is buddies. I know ‘im from tha Brotherhood. Bring Yer Own Cunt was funny, t’ be honest – but I don’t like that guy much. Don’t like many in tha trade, tell ya tha truth.”

“Why come here, then?” she asked, still glaring. The upraised and trapped fist was ready to fly.

“Cuz I like tha place. Tha few I do get on well with come often ‘nuff fer poker games, an’ cuz I don’t get harassed by yer side o’ tha tracks. We’re here t’ meet a friend, more or less. This is how I get tha current bunch o’ Hydra goons offa my jock – an’ by default, yers. With that in mind, if’n ya wanna play along, that’d be real helpful. When they get here, ya need t’ stick close, in sight at least. These idiots are gonna think yer my latest chew toy an’ that keeps ya safer than ya might could be otherwise.”

“So you are a child molester. I’m so shocked. I mean, geez – never would of guessed.”

Snarling, he put a hand to her back and shoved her chest against his, her wide eyes staring directly into the dripping fangs and teeth.

“Go ahead, ya li’l brat – push me.” She froze, and when she wilted and looked down, he let her sit up away from his teeth. “Play it like a broken waif or a sassy handful, don’t make no diff’rence t’ me but pretendin’ yer my piece keeps tha rest o’ these felony-prone freaks offa yer ass – plus what li’l else ya got t’ offer a man. Capiche?”

“I hate you, you sick ugly bastard. You’re disgusting.” Ignoring his earlier advice, she wrenched herself away to put her back to him again.

Victor chuckled. “That’s tha spirit – keep it up.”

The barstool next to them became occupied by a mix of shifting scents attached to the same pussy. It made him hiss, alarming the brat again. When she turned her head to look and saw the slinky sexpot psychopath Typhoid Mary grinning at her, the kid shrank into him again – perfectly fitting the part she needed to play.

 _Natch, my least favorite member o’ tha regular poker group is tha one t’ show up t’night._ “Fuck off, ya schizoid cunt.”

“Missed me, fleabag? Who’s your little toy? Honey-sweets, mmm, you need to be saved from the big bad ugly kitty? He’d ream you in half, if he hasn’t already. I’ll play with you, we’d have fun.” Leaning in close with more balls than any man in the place, she reached out as if to tweak the kid’s nipple – assuming she had them.

Tucking herself under Victor’s snarl to retreat, she yelped when his big hand came up to block her chest. Her voice shook just a little, but she managed to mutter, “No, thanks, I’m fine.”

“She’s fine?” Typhoid’s red lips pouted but the eyes gleamed with bloodlust. “Got this one cowed. I should gut you for that.”

“Pick a spot an’ a day, bitch – but I got biz here t’night an’ yer wastin’ my air.”

The woman rose in barely any clothing and rubbed magnificent tits with pencil eraser nipples across his arm. Her scent, layered with heat, might have jacked him up if it weren’t for the voice of experience stomping on inner kitty lust.

“Mmm, Vickie… Soooo taasty… Too bad we can’t play here.”

When he moved his hand, Jubliee twisted in his lap again to peer over his shoulder as one of the creepiest bitches around walked off to ruin some other bastard’s night.

“Wow. Logan’s warned me about her – that version of her. Yikes and a half.”

Pouring and drinking down booze, Victor snorted. “First met that four-in-one twat when I was checkin’ fer monsters under my bed.”

The girl went owl-eyed, and then remembered to close her mouth. “You’re afraid of her?”

“Fat chance. What that cocktease broad is kid, is a huge time suck. I got zip t’ spare.”

She glared and frowned. “Can we agree not to get handsy on the wares anymore?”

“I’ll agree when ya get some wares t’ be offended over.”

That dig cut, just like the last one. Eyes shining with angry tears, she flipped him off. Another twist over his abruptly tightening jeans, and she leaned forward to drink her pop as Victor gritted his teeth. The bottle of Old Crow didn’t stand a chance and neither did the second or third.

~ ~ ~

“Victor! It’s a pleasure to run into you!”

Turning his head as Paganucci entered the bar, he straightened up on the stool and growled, looking around him for Ebersol.

The short and round Italian with a net worth longer than Victor’s arm claimed the stool Typhoid had vacated a while back. “They’re coming, never fear, when have I ever not come through for you?” Taking in the kid, he smiled nervously at her. “Good evening, my dear.”

“Whatever.” Moving her half empty glass out of the way, she put her forehead down on folded arms on the bar.

“She’s cranky,” Victor offered as explanation, amused at how her presence on his lap made the normally unruffled fellow uncomfortable.

“I see that. Why don’t we move to a private room? Your favorite seems to be empty.”

The kid’s head popped up to glare anew. “Private? What? Why?”

“Gotta game o’ poker t’ play, brat. Ya can have yer own chair.”

“Sounds great, let’s hit it.”

Paganucci got up to lead the way as Victor picked the kid up. He didn’t set her on her feet, lifting her over his shoulder.

“Hey! Put me down!”

“Ya squeal like a piglet an’ ya dress funny,” he quipped, grinning when nearly the whole place laughed.

Making a spectacle on purpose, he carted her across the taproom, kicking and cursing. He dumped her onto a simple wooden chair the Italian had absurdly pulled out for her at the sturdy hexagonal table. Victor took the one next her, putting her between him and his client. From the open door, he couldn’t be seen.

“I’ve challenged Ebersol to a game as a friendly overture to break the ice and he accepted. When he arrives, he’ll be directed back here. This table is a bit rustic, though … hmm.”

“Whole dive’s rustic, that’s how I like ‘em.” Victor frowned. “He gonna bolt tha second he claps eyes on me?” He rose and popped claws. The other two stared as he cut a border line about five inches in on all six sides. Sitting back when he finished, he met Paganucci’s delighted smile.

“No, he won’t. I’ve told him he owes me a courtesy – you’re working for me and his pursuit has threatened a business venture.”

“Good one. Ya fig he wants t’ be buddies with yer wallet ‘nuff t’ play?”

“Of course – everyone wants that. Also, as you well know, having picked the place, he’s aware you won’t try to harm him here.” Turning to Jubilee as if he was trying to include her in conversation at a country club, he added, “House rules. No fighting allowed.” He pointed to the etched brass sign by the doorframe: Keep it Outside or Else. The Management – Satan’s Circus.

Victor slipped his clawed fingers into her spiky hair before she could retort and pulled gently as a reminder to behave and – hopefully – be quiet. “Just us three in tha game?”

“Yes, but I’ve set it up as a high-stakes affair – I have a neutral party coming in to serve as our dealer; I’ve asked him to bring everything we’ll need.”

“Whatever stiffens ya, don’t care. This better work. Once he shows I can track ‘im if he rabbits.”

“Oh, even better: I told him he could bring his troopers and their handler Timchs if he wanted too, as long as they wait outside – in the alley next over.”

Snorting as his grin stretched wide, Victor chuckled. “Yer good.”

“I know.” He wove his thick fingers together and folded them on the table. “Ah, yes – here is Peepers. I’ve asked him to keep refreshments coming.”

Making a rude noise in his throat when he caught the little freak’s scent, Victor groused, “Great. My favorite li’l brain-scrambled meathead.”

“You are responsible for getting him a job here as a waiter.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“He will suffice for our purposes.”

Jubilee perked up when the waiter Peepers came in balancing a large tray precariously under the weight of a huge pitcher of beer and a cluster of glass beer mugs.

Another runt no taller than Logan, the weirdo Peter Quinn had once tried to be a baddie when he had a brain, working for Magneto in a new lineup of the Brotherhood. Mags had dumped that group after Captain America kicked their asses. Working for the Red Skull later, a fact that didn’t endear him at all to Victor, Quinn had ended up getting tossed into power lines. More tries, more problems – he had the worst luck. Finally ending up a short-circuiting nervous mental case by the time he was released from a sentence at the Cage, Victor had come across him again. Hearing that he had stabbed a prisoner for trying to kill the injured X-Man Beast, he’d been impressed and had the ridiculous idea of getting him a job at Satan’s Circus.

_No good deed ever goes unpunished. Oh, goody – looks like tha kid’s found a new bug-eyed goblin puppy. Fine by me._

“Hey, hi,” she said to him. “‘Tooth’s not your dad, right? There’s a certain pointy-eared resemblance.”

“Oh, no, no, no, Mr. Creed is my friend, he got me this job.”

“Will wonders never cease.” Looking over at Victor, she smirked and then stuck her tongue out at him. “Hey, beer is great for the boys, but can you bring me another Dr. Pepper?”

“Yes, yes. Mr. Creed, whiskey?”

Sneering at his simpering, Victor half-snarled, “More Old Crow, fresh glass.” Gesturing to Paganucci, he added, “Bring ‘im a martini – tell Maurice he likes it James Bond style.”

Grabbing the other beer mugs, he put them roughly back on the tray, irritated when he didn’t manage to knock the little bastard over. Ignoring him after that, he got into the beer, letting it slop over the rim of the mug.

“Don’t be mean to him, geez. Pick on somebody your own size.” Crossing her arms, Jubilee kicked his chair leg and pouted at him.

“Find me some-fuckin’-body my size an’ I will.”

Paganucci watched them, drummed fingers on the table once, and then lifted an eyebrow at him. “Victor, I’m baffled – or I hope I am. Why is this young girl with you?”

“Snatched ‘er outta tha jaws o’ Ebersol’s goons. More ya dunno tha better.”

She slumped in her chair and glared at the table. “I’m going to end up bored, I just know it.”

“It builds character,” he told her with a smirk. “Sit tight, kid. I got this all figged out.”

“I bet. Peepers is kind of fun. Can I go help him with the drinks?”

“No. Now shut it.”

~ ~ ~

Two more pitchers in and Victor sat up and growled when the front doors opened, waking the kid out of her slumped stupor on the table. It had been a long time, but he still remembered Ebersol’s scent.

The smug arrogant asswipe walked into the bar looking like most of the Nazi and Hydra officers Victor had ever hated – only the skull-octopus symbol on silver belt buckle and red armband on a black and red uniform were different. He even had his black uniform pants bloused over shiny jackboots. The man’s shaved bald head sparked unpleasant memories of Charles Xavier while the neat black moustache and goatee was almost a fanboy attempt to look like Tony Stark’s.

Like many patrons of Satan’s Circus, he was armed. A holstered high-tech gun and a few hidden blades were easy for him to spot, but the random weird tech laced through the uniform might or might not be a challenge.

Victor twitched and snarled when Paganucci touched his forearm. “Calmly, Victor – poker face … the game has technically already begun.”

“Wow,” Jubilee whispered as the man approached. “A real-life Nazi. Ew.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well Victor did it again – my planned three chapter fic now has to be four chapters (he does this a lot, the rascal). Paganucci is my OC. I first encountered Peepers and the villain bar Satan’s Circus in "Weapon X" #26 and #28 (2004) in the story "Man and Monster". For those who find Sabretooth hot, ignore the cover art – the artist inside the pages didn’t do a bad job. He’s even drawn with his correct pointed ears, cat-like amber eyes, and the bottom fangs longer than the top fangs. Add that to a hubba hubba physique and I was drooling. Ahem. Back to Peepers. The backstory on him that Victor is thinking about hails from "Wolverine" Vol. 2 #162 through 166, the story "The Hunted". All of my research had trouble finding out why Victor got Peepers a job at Satan’s Circus, since he seems to dislike him so much, but Victor says so in the Weapon X story, so hey – canon. In "The Hunted", Victor gets into the prison to bust Logan out and Peepers was also there, so who knows – my Victor does have a weird soft spot for underdogs now and then.
> 
> Victor had gotten on Ebersol’s trail near the end of my "Cutting Edge" story, after the Hydra villain hired assassin Osiris to kill Tony Stark. The feral’s hunt for Catalyst continues. I am taking huge liberties with Marvel’s character of Paul Norbert Ebersol. He has a lot more history in the comics (including clashes with Iron Man), but he fit my plot and I liked the idea of basing at least part of him in comics canon. As usual, if I see a typo I’ll fix it as I go. Thanks for reading! - AnonGrimm (@MET_Fic)


	4. From Blinding Heights

If you take a life, do you know what you’ll give  
Odds are, you won’t like what it is  
When the storm arrives, would you be seen with me  
By the merciless eyes I’ve deceived  
I’ve seen angels fall from blinding heights  
But you yourself are nothing so divine  
Just next in line

Arm yourself because no-one else here will save you  
The odds will betray you, and I will replace you  
You can’t deny the prize; it may never fulfill you  
It longs to kill you, are you willing to die?  
The coldest blood runs through my veins  
You know my name

If you come inside, things will not be the same  
When you return to the night  
If you think you’ve won, you never saw me change  
The game that we have been playing

I’ve seen this diamond cut through harder men  
Than you yourself  
But if you must pretend, you may meet your end  
The coldest blood runs through my veins  
Try to hide your hand, forget how to feel  
Life is gone with just a spin of the wheel

Arm yourself because no-one else here will save you  
The odds will betray you, and I will replace you  
You can’t deny the prize; it may never fulfill you  
It longs to kill you, are you ready to die?

The coldest blood runs through my veins  
You know my name, you know my name  
You know my name!

~ You Know My Name (Chris Cornell, Bond Theme to Casino Royale)

“Do not try to fight a lion if you are not one yourself.” ~ Proverb

*****************************************************************

The dealer passed the trio of men two hole cards each. Turning to Ebersol on his left, he stated, “Small blind.” Looking at Victor to the Hydra freak’s left, he added, “Big blind.”

First Ebersol and then Victor tossed in chips, followed by Paganucci.

Slumped in his chair, Victor struggled to keep his normally flawless poker face intact. They had to put the mark at ease.

A perfect storm of distractions teemed around him, and he could blame Paganucci for at least one of them. He’d selected the dealer, so he claimed, for the fellow’s skills at running a game. The slender and pretty young black man in a fancy charcoal suit was also unable to hide the scent of his attraction for large feral blond mutants. His behavior was icy and flawless – but his heat was threatening to drive Victor out of his skin.

Restless and bored as the poker game got underway, the brat kept getting up and sitting down again, twisting in the chair, or leaning half out of it to look out into the taproom. Taking liberties that surprised him, she now and then stood behind him and leaned on his shoulder to watch them play.

Victor had forbidden her to chew gum – the last thing his taxed concentration needed was a constant chorus of slurp-chew-blow-pop.

When Jubilee reached out from behind while leaning on Victor to touch the pair of cards he’d been given, he snarled at her and she yanked her hand back.

The dealer laid out three cards in the middle of the table, face up in a line: the flop. Deadly serious, the next bet went around the table, with each of them sliding or tossing chips and plaques into the pot.

_No checks, no folds. Watch fer any tells, scents, anythin’ ya can use. Focus._

“This is super-exciting high-stakes poker?” Jubilee piped up. “I’m already bored. I’m gonna go find Peepers.”

Victor hissed at her as the others frowned. “Shut tha fuck up or I’ll toss yer larynx in tha pot.”

Ignoring the interruption and outburst, the dealer laid a fourth card in the line and they all bet again. Victor could almost hear the brat eye-rolling over his shoulder as the fifth card was laid down. She huffed out a breath and began to walk out past his chair.

Sick of her fussing and aware that they all were, he changed his mind about letting her leave the table – as long as she obeyed him. Pushing his chair back, he snatched her by the throat and squeezed slightly. Her widening eyes locked onto his as her hands gripped his wrist.

“Stay in tha bar – ya won’t like it if’n I gotta come after ya.” Belatedly remembering Typhoid Mary was out there, he added in a half-growl, “Don’t scamper far. Anybody bugs ya, get back here or sit at tha bar. Maurice can keep ‘em offa ya.” He let her go by giving her throat a light push, easily breaking her hold as she stumbled back a step.

Her hands rose to her neck as she glared at him. “Can he keep your dirty paws off me?” Turning on her heel, she went out muttering. Some of the words were pretty choice – soap worthy, even. He couldn’t help a smirk as he watched her go. Tracking her by scent, he stifled a low growl at the others and tried to get his head back in the game.

~ ~ ~

After her foray into the taproom out of sight, Jubilee reappeared with a tray she had swiped from Peepers.

 _Gotta admit, if’n she wants t’ play waitress, at least that obnoxious goblin is buggin’ me less._ “‘Nother pitcher o’ beer, frail,” he tossed the order in her direction as he studied the other men.

“Same as before,” Paganucci added, giving her a smile that appeared weirdly genuine.

“Same,” Ebersol echoed as he met Victor’s stare. His preference for Jägermeister just made Victor’s fingertips itch.

“You want anything, dealer dude?”

Expressionless and cool as ever with the untouched glass of water – ice melting – at his elbow, the dealer answered, “Thank you, no, Miss Lee.” His voice was cultured and melted like butter over Victor’s tightening black jeans.

_So Paganucci’s tha type t’ bring a mare in season int’ a race with stallions, huh? Bastard. What’s he playin’ at?_

“Hey, ‘Tooth – you want more icky booze or just beer?”

“Said beer – that means beer.”

Victor frowned, glaring after her as she went out to the bar for more drinks. The saucy scrap even tossed him an arrogant smirk of her own as she did it, knowing he couldn’t take his attention off the game. Her antics were a nonstop distraction anyway and he had to keep working on ignoring her while also tracking her scent in the bar.

 _Gonna kick yer ass next time we run int’ each other, Logan – just fer yer neglect. Can’t even teach yer sidekick t’ fuckin’ mind a man proper._ _Could make ‘er obey, but I’d hafta break ‘er t’ do it an’ Tabs wouldn’t thank me fer that._ His frown deepened when he noticed Ebersol watching her, too.

“Delightfully precocious, isn’t she?” Paganucci asked Ebersol.

“Not the description I would have used,” he replied, his tone and body language stiff.

“Ya spent ‘nuff time, effort, an’ manpower tryin’ t’ pry ‘er outta my mitts,” Victor rounded on the man as they all placed bets in turn. “No point tryin’ t’ act all indiff’rent now. Why’d ya want ‘er, anyhow?”

“Merely a gift for a potential friend I should like to do business with.”

 _Wow, he really is a moron. Better not t’ give intel away like free candy._ “Ya break it, ya bought it – did ya forget t’ tell yer goose-steppers ya want ‘er alive?”

“I don’t believe I intimated that her condition was an issue – it was imparted to me that such a thing wasn’t important.”

Victor snorted. “Well, ya ran afoul o’ me an’ mine … again. Ya got fewer grunts now – not that ya give a shit.”

Ebersol turned to Paganucci as if Victor wasn’t important enough to continue speaking with. “At least crossing paths with you has afforded us the chance to meet properly. Your reputation as a powerful – and shall we say useful – ally, precedes you.”

The Italian’s chin lifted as his brief smile grew taut. “Flattery can take you far – but with all due respect, I haven’t offered myself as an ally just yet. There is still the matter of your interference in the job my man here was attempting to carry out at my behest.”

“Regrettable, indeed – it is my hope that we might salvage a mutually beneficial agreement from the ashes of misunderstandings.”

 _Behest, regrettable, an’ ‘my man’ – fuckin’ bloody hell! Wanna just crack both their heads t’gether so’s I can toss tha tasty on tha table an’ fuck ‘is cultured brains out. Where’s tha damn brat got off t’? She go t’ Guam fer tha booze?_ Turning his glare at the door back onto Ebersol, he grunted at all the polite dancing around they were doing. _Fancy doubletalk sucks. Assholes._

“Why don’t we sweeten the pot,” Ebersol suggested. “Toss the mutant girl in.”

Expecting Paganucci to fuss so he wouldn’t have to – after he’d seemed so bent on being nice to the kid – Victor had to suppress a surprised growl when the Italian nodded and smiled.

“I concur – Victor won’t mind, since he was fetching her for me.” His almost paternal smug ‘play along now’ smile made the feral’s blood boil.

“Excellent,” the mark responded, just as smug.

“As long as we’re on the topic of making things sweeter…” Paganucci turned his head to widen the smile at Victor. “That little matter in Phoenix we’ve discussed – why don’t we consider that a side wager?”

The smile was the friendliest veiled threat Victor had ever seen beamed at him, at least from someone without blue tits. The challenge was clear.

 _Agree – t’ both wagers – or risk sabotage in tha middle o’ our plan. Fuck. Ain’t givin’ Short Round t’ any-fuckin’-body._ “Fine by me,” he answered, swallowing another growl. Carrying the loaded tray, the kid returned. “Took ya long ‘nuff.”

“Wonderful!” Paganucci exclaimed. “So if you truly don’t want to do that job, all you have to do is win – then you can keep the girl as well or simply sell her to our mutual friend, here.”

“What the hell?” Jubilee had just put down the last of their drinks, at least. She looked like she was considering hitting somebody with the tray until she noticed Victor’s snarl.

“Get over here,” he ordered.

Despite his murderous glare, he was still surprised when she finally obeyed. Peepers appeared and Victor snatched the tray from her and tossed it to him like a frisbee. Grabbing her arm, he yanked her onto his lap and held her there with one hand on her stomach. Staring at Ebersol, he smirked.

“I’d rather kill ‘er, but if’n ya want ‘er so bad, maybe I’ll listen t’ how bad that happens t’ be.”

“Certainly – provided you win the game.”

“You bet me? You bet me!” she repeated, her voice turning shrill.

Palm on the back of her head, he bent her double in his lap and hissed in her ear. “Not gonna be sassin’ nothin’ if’n ya keep irritatin’ me. Behave or else. What’d ya think I stole ya fer? I’m a businessman, shortcake. Yer nothin’ but a payday or a snack – yer pick.” He held her bent over right under his teeth until he scented tears. “One paf an’ I’ll eat ya, capiche? I can always toss yer corpse on tha table with tha rest – probly worth more dead anyhow.”

Releasing her once she wilted, he picked her up by her hips and ass and dropped her on her chair.

Subdued, she sat quietly for a while; he didn’t expect it to last, and he was right. When she reached out and touched his arm, respectful for once, he nodded to allow her to whisper to him.

“Can I go talk to Peepers or help him work? I can’t just sit here...”

“Stay in tha taproom an’ outta trouble.”

He watched her go out, shoulders slumped and smelling like fear. She wasn’t giving up – X-freaks never did – so he’d have to stay on his toes. He also needed to win or protecting her was going to get messy for all involved, including his business reputation.

The bets went around the table as cards were dealt and the pot grew downright tasty. He didn’t need it but winning was always good for an ego stroke. For all he could tell, riches almost bored Paganucci. Ebersol hardly seemed to care about any of it, even as he bet all of his plaques and chips.

_Their scents bear that out. Poker faces that can beat my nose make up a bloody short list. So by pure bent o’ give-a-shit, Lady Luck oughta pick me._

Outside the room, Victor heard the kid prattling on at the bar to that bitch Typhoid. The talk around him faded as he sharpened his attention on the mismatched pair of females.

_Much as I hate an’ don’t trust tha murderous cunt, at least she ain’t likely t’ actually hurt tha girl, cuz tha puffy kitten ain’t a man. Typhoid can def keep tha other dogs away from ‘er, too. I’ll take it. Wish Frank or John was here t’night, could use a real ally. Is tha mini X-twit actually askin’ that psycho whore if she’s cold in tha fishnets? Runt, how ya put up with this brat – I got no words. Ballsy, though ... gotta admit that._

It was his bet next. All eyes turned on him. The dealer’s face was impassive but as he met his gaze, those pretty dark eyes widened, the nostrils flaring slightly. The warm gaze fell to Victor’s hands on the scattered plastic money in front of him as the scent of heat came on stronger.

Ear tips twitching in annoyance at his least favorite distraction, he growled and stacked up more chips and plaques. Pushing them out, he turned his head to pin a baleful stare on the fascist asshole across the table and rasped, “Raise, one million.”

He ended up in a staring match with Paganucci next. The fool was sitting there with his lips moving, counting his chips.

Paganucci glanced up at Victor, devoid of a decent poker face, and winked at him. Making his stacks of chips over plaques perfectly neat first, he smiled as he gathered up every bit of plastic in front of him and slid the stacks over the line. “Five million.”

The dealer spoke next, watching them in turn. “Raise, all in.”

Time seemed to crawl, yet only seconds passed. Jubilee reappeared and stood just inside the open door. She smelled understandably anxious, unlike his fellow players. He wasn’t aware of what Ebersol’s financial situation was, but he did know the money at stake was chump change to himself and the Italian.

_Maybe he has access t’ Hydra’s budget?_

Peepers brought him another bourbon. Ebersol was still drinking Jägermeister, and there was a fresh martini on the tray for Paganucci. The fact that the bug-eyed idiot had brought Jubilee a third Dr. Pepper made Victor launch an eye-roll of his own. She wandered up beside him and slurped it, making his ears pin.

_Like tha li’l poptart needs more sugar._

Shaking it off and downing the booze, he glared at the small clutch of spectators that appeared around the doorway to watch.

 _An audience – oh, joy._ Victor studied the faces at the table and the flop cards. _Ace o’ hearts, then tha rest are spades: eight, six, four, ace._

Moving the single chip off his hole cards, he curled them up a little to gloat at them: six of hearts and ace of clubs.

 _Good odds on a full house. Tha li’l Italian bastard’s gonna have a hard time beatin’ that, an’ Hydra scum over there barely knows what he’s doin’. Hmm…_ “Gotta call ya on that one,” he spoke to Paganucci.

Casually, as if he were as bored as the brat claimed to be, he gave his collection of plastic a gentle brushing toss over the line, letting them spill.

“Gentlemen, please show your cards,” the dealer directed.

Ebersol slid his hole cards toward the dealer, turning them face up. He had a pair of eights, clubs and hearts. The dealer rearranged the cards, dropping the six and four and lining up the trio of eights between the aces.

“Full house,” the dealer announced, “eights full of aces.”

Victor snorted. _Aces an’ Eights. Tha dead man gets tha Dead Man’s Hand. Too many aces on this bloody table, so Paganucci’s cards probly can’t beat mine. What a shame. I can make a full house that’ll end Ebersol’s. Well, here we go – don’t weep fer me, Arizona._ He flipped his hole cards over and pushed them to the dealer. He managed to knock over one of his client’s neat chip stacks on the way there.

“A superior full house, aces full of sixes. Mr. Paganucci?”

The Italian gave a small smile, a pleased smile. Slowly, he turned his hole cards over for the dealer. A gasp went up outside the room. The dealer cut through it and Victor’s growl.

“A five and seven of spades, straight flush. Four through eight of spades, the high hand. Mr. Paganucci wins.” Without looking at the dealer, the Italian cut him one of the plaques as a tip. “Thank you very much, sir.”

Jubilee half-fell and half-sat on her chair. Her hands gripped the glass of pop as if she was considering throwing it but hadn’t yet decided on a target. Her wide blue eyes ticked between them as if trying to sort out if the devil she knew was better or worse for real.

Glaring at Paganucci’s smile as it widened and beamed at him, Victor’s eyes narrowed at his client as the growl lowered.

He cheerfully ignored the warning. “Well, now that I have what I wanted, I’m afraid I must go – I have a meeting. About your scheduling concerns – I’ll call to arrange a new date, after your trip farther north.”

“Ain’t lettin’ ya have tha kid.” He felt the girl’s eyes on him but ignored her.

“If you want to take her as payment for a job well done, be my guest – I’ll even donate the pot.” He pulled a fancy checkbook and pen from his suit jacket breast pocket and wrote a check, tearing it loose and handing it over. “I’ll leave you to settle up with Herr Ebersol, assuming he brought his checkbook, and I look forward to seeing you again – in Phoenix. Don’t be late.”

Victor had to retract claws to get them out of his whiskey glass in order to take the check. He folded it with barely a glance and handed it to the kid. “Put that in yer belt fer me.”

Standing, Paganucci held out his pudgy hand. Victor rose and shook it. He was aware the man had technically snookered him, but the surrender of the stakes – all of them – soothed his anger.

“Mr. Paganucci,” Ebersol called out as he stood, “we haven’t had a chance to discuss a possible alliance? We are working to create the sort of changes you wish to see. Hydra can be quite an asset.”

The short man straightened as far as he could with pride. “My apologies, sir – as delightful as this little distraction has been, my business here is concluded. All things considered, an alliance with a fascist order probably isn’t any more lucrative for the average Italian now than it was in the 1940s. Good evening to you.”

Victor swallowed his smirk as Paganucci swept out through the scattering crowd of onlookers with his tantalizing dealer in his wake. Slowly, Victor resumed his seat and invited the miffed Ebersol to do the same with an open-handed gesture and a carefully controlled toothy smile. Laying his arm out across the back of the kid’s chair, his hand closed over her shoulder as she froze.

“He don’t wanna play ball – but maybe now I’ll listen t’ how bad ya want my property.”

Ebersol sat and watched him carefully. “She is a mere trifle. The real prize is your talents and services. Your feud with Hydra is old. Perhaps it’s long past time to discover what you could achieve in real power and riches – from within our ranks.”

“My feud with Hydra is with Catalyst – yer predecessor by a tidy few years in tha Science Division gig. Make a gift o’ ‘im first, then maybe we can talk ‘bout … opportunities.” Studying the mark, he opened every sense he had. Instantly, the micro expressions, body language, heart rate, and scent combined into the same irrefutable conclusion. _He ain’t got no damn clue. Fuck._

“Catalyst? He is practically a myth – listed as deceased for decades. As I understand it, the fool was pushed into his own moat of piranhas; all they found was scraps. Such a person is purely ridiculous, piranha moats? How very medieval. So alas, this boon is not mine to give.”

“Is yer part o’ tha pot here yers t’ give? Or did ya conveniently forget yer purse?”

With a calculated tolerant sigh, he produced a checkbook of his own – devoid of Hydra emblems. Fingers quick and precise, he wrote and tore off a check with lots of zeros at the end. Victor folded it like the other one and gave it to the kid. He didn’t take his glaring stare off the prey as her belt zip sounded beside him.

Ebersol tucked the checkbook away and leaned forward on his elbows with fingers meshed and expression eager. “Allow me to guess your true offense – you wish to kill Tony Stark and I sent Osiris to steal that privilege from you. I presume his meddling hampered your attempt? This is a mutual aim of ours, Mr. Creed – I think if you consider all that is on the table this time, you will see that what I offer you now is something far greater than hollow vengeance on a man long dead.”

Victor snorted. “Mits off Stark – that’s my prey. Ain’t gonna bet that.”

“Conceded. All I require is his death. From within Hydra, you would find it far easier to make another attempt.”

Images flashed in his head as he tapped the table with a claw on his free hand. The only constant in the memories was one man. He was a scrawny thing with no chin who had held him with a leash of fear – a man who had efficiently organized the death of millions. Victor’s hand tightened on the kid’s shoulder as claws cut through his fingertips, just the tips winking under the weak lights.

 _He was a coward, like this one. Treatin’ me like garbage while he had Paganucci t’ smooze… Only reason I’m gettin’ this offer is cuz he’d like t’ leave this bar alive someday. I could kill ‘em all without payin’ too high a price, but I ain’t gonna convince ‘im t’ leave tha kid here. Out there, when tha claws an’ bullets start flyin’, Short Round’ll be tha first thing they plug. Gotta make ‘im hungry, make ‘im really want this._ Rolling the dice since the kid would hear it all too, he huffed out a breath. “Consider me tempted. I’m guessin’ ya know what I was doin’ in tha 40s.”

“Gestapo, rumored to be a favorite of the Reichsführer-SS Heinrich Himmler. I should very much enjoy hearing those tales over drinks someday. Yet many other rumors paint quite a different picture of your loyalties to the ideology he championed.”

“Yeah, well … once ya torch tha real Picasso, tha forgeries ain’t worth much, are they?”

Ebersol’s smile widened. “True, I agree. Yet the Hydra of today is far more organized and efficient than the Reich of your glory days. You move from job to job, spending your money as fast as you earn it without building a true powerbase, yes?”

Victor’s eyes narrowed. “Always more jobs, ain’t been a prob.”

“The pageantry, the might – you saw that first hand. You could have it again … no more hiding in the shadows.”

“Modern Hydra hides in any shadow it can find. Ya don’t gotta clue what it was like t’ walk in tha sun down a street where every buildin’ had a red flag flutterin’, sportin’ a black hakenkreuz. Yer playin’ dress up, Ebersol – wearin’ granddaddy’s jackboots that ya ain’t able or worthy t’ fill.”

“You are a visionary, then – Mr. Creed, I had no idea. I swear to you – we are striving to make that past our future. Help us to do that. Guide us back to that light, to that pride of place in a world that needs order desperately.”

 _Gotcha._ Victor let a smirk stretch and split into a sharp grin. “Maybe ya got tha stones after all.”

“One man can’t achieve this dream.”

“Yer right ‘bout that, but I still want a re-up bonus – that’s somethin’ one man can achieve. Ya claim Catalyst is Tetramin, so … Revilo Timchs still works fer ya?”

“He does, under my direct command.”

“I don’t like ‘im, neither. Gimme ‘im as a … good faith gift.”

“Done.”

“I ain’t gonna be no grunt. If’n I hire on, better be ‘nuff bling on my motherfuckin’ shoulders t’ keep me interested in playin’ with ya – that an’ barrels o’ cash. Toss in a few skirts, maybe – those can be one’s ya wanna be rid o’ though – I’m rough with my toys.”

“Rank and privilege are assessed by the candidate’s worth – I have no doubt you will be high ranking in the order before the ink dries on the dotted line.”

“Ya get a kickback fer bringin’ in tha likes o’ me?”

“Oh, yes. Yet that is immaterial to the greater good and glory of the order.”

“Natch.” Victor hauled the kid onto his lap and licked a tear off her cheek as she clenched her teeth and fists at once. “Even trade, the kid fer Timchs – an’ then we jaw ‘bout just how fast I’m gonna end up outrankin’ ya before I’m done.”

Ebersol’s smile was pure greed with a sprinkling of hubris. “Hail Hydra.”

“If’n yer a man o’ yer word – yeah.” Victor rose, pulling up the kid with him. “Ya want me t’ kill ‘er fer ya? Easier an’ quieter in transit that way. Don’t make no diff’rence t’ me, already sick o’ ‘er noise.”

Ebersol stood, preening like a bald Nazi peacock. “Alive is worth more – as it happens.”

“Yer call,” Victor answered, slipping into the old body language and tone of a loyal underling. The need for it enraged him, yet not a hint of that showed – he was practiced at both skills. He set the girl on her feet but kept a hand on the back of her neck.

Ignoring him, she glared up at Ebersol. “Who are you selling me to – I have a right to know.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” He sneered at her before looking back up at Victor. “You may as well continue to keep her docile, for now. We can be rid of her in a matter of hours.”

“Small mercies,” Victor muttered.

Removing his hand from her neck, he let the claws slide out long. Staring down at her as the man left the table and headed into the taproom, he growled when Ebersol disappeared out of sight.

Jubilee whirled and hissed an outraged whisper up at him, “You hate Hydra, Logan told me that, you told me that. You’re up to something, obviously a plot to kill them all. Do I get to survive it?”

Honestly surprised she’d seen through the fascist hand-jobbing bullshit, he smirked at her. “Ya can pay attention after all – handy skill, that. Don’t worry ‘bout who ‘is buyer is – yer my property, won ya fair an’ square.”

“You lost.”

“Shut yer pancake hole. That Nazi chew-toy needs t’ think I’m a fan o’ those bastards or keepin’ ya free o’ lead might could get harder t’ manage.”

“That makes no sense. You know that, right?”

“Ya wanna stay alive?”

“Duh.”

“Then try t’ keep up an’ play along – maybe lend a firework or two t’ tha cause when tha bullets start t’ fly. Go fer their guns an’ any crazy tech shit that guy tries t’ toss at me.”

“The devil I know, huh?”

“Yup.”

“Geez. When I get home, I’m telling Logan you’re trying to kill Iron Man.”

A grin split his face. “Knock yerself out. Nazi boy’s comin’ back, since ya yak forever. Hold yer breath an’ practice yer poker face – play along time starts now. Gotta make it look good.”

“Huh? Hey!”

Victor grabbed her and shoved her against the wall. One hand on a shoulder, the other on a hip, he bent his head and licked up her throat as she let loose an ear-ringing scream. It was anybody’s guess if it was real or fake.

“If you must do that, can it wait? We have a time window on delivery.”

The kid nearly swallowed her tongue but then she surprised him. “Please get him off me – whoever you’re taking me too, maybe they want me unharmed?”

Going for the Oscar, Victor rasped in her ear, “Think I can’t fuck ya without damagin’ tha goods? Sounds like a challenge t’ me.”

“Come along, Mr. Creed – this does not serve the order’s goals.”

With a hiss, he let her go. Grabbing her upper arm, he tugged at her. “Saved by tha boss, frail.”

As they moved through the taproom, he ignored the shocked stares of some and the smirks hidden behind the hands of others. It was a toss-up which of them would have the guts to tease him about this next time. He caught sight of Typhoid Mary at the end of the bar and it was hard not to grin when she raised her glass to him.

_Mutual hate can’t stand in tha way o’ mutual respect fer a good murder plot. Cheers, bitch. Catch ya on tha flipside. Might even let ya win a hand or two in our next poker game – fer free babysittin’._

~ ~ ~

One alley over, just as Paganucci said, Victor and his bait were taken to the rest of the troopers – or what was left of them. A box truck was parked deeper down the alley in the gloom of distant streetlights with its back doors hanging open. The cargo area had been outfitted with padding, and a collection of chain and handcuff shackles hung from an open locker just inside one door. The fishmonger signs were painted on, the license plates no doubt stolen.

Victor marched the kid up to the modified refrigerator truck, ignoring the glaring scowls of the men around him. There were only seventeen of them left, thanks to him. The hardest stare came from the beefy Revilo Timchs, but he didn’t let it distract him – he’d be dealing with him soon enough.

He had to struggle not to laugh at the prison-style shackles as he grabbed a set of them. _Only idiots would think Cracker Jack toy shit like this can control a mutant with incendiary talents. She knows it, too. Good girl._ Victor cuffed her wrists, gathering the chain up to grab the attached ankle cuffs. “Whatever ya do, stay in tha truck – it’s cover, got it?” he whispered as he crouched to fasten them above her sneakers.

She didn’t react, but when he lifted her up to stand her inside it, she didn’t fuss. Her little hands fisted as her eyes ticked from man to man, noting where all the guns were. He rose as the mark approached behind him with a goon in tow. Turning, he made a mental note of where they all were and sized them up just as the girl had.

“She’ll have to be drugged for the trip,” Ebersol ordered, waving a man forward who had a field medic satchel over one shoulder.

“My bonus comes first – so’s I know yer an honest man.”

“Timchs, come forward,” Ebersol ordered.

The tall and heavy Russian obeyed but he already looked suspicious. None of the wounds had stuck of course, but the man had gotten enough licks in over the years to make Victor respect his skills. His father was a former KGB officer and he’d raised a son who was smarter than most of the goons in Hydra, with a legitimate interest in the welfare of his troopers. When a failing economy had neutered the Soviet Union and it finally dissolved, ending the Cold War, Timchs had turned his back on the country his father had died defending.

_Yakov Timchs was an admirable adversary back in tha day. It’s a damn honest shame ‘is son’s in league with tha goose-steppers – I coulda introduced ‘im t’ Mags or found a way t’ employ ‘im myself. Can’t carve tha fascist outta ‘em, though._

“Why is this animal with you?” Timchs asked, glaring at Victor. “He took my squads apart.”

“For the greater good of the order – Victor Creed is joining our ranks.”

“Sir – he’s destroyed more Hydra loyalists than you’ve even met!”

“Perhaps – but he is only going to kill one more. Herr Creed, I present your gift.”

Victor lost no time leaping on the only threat among the troopers. Claws flashing, he shuddered at the voice of hubris behind him that echoed the few men he had truly feared and hated more than any others.

“Hail Hydra.”

Spurred by that fear, he let it enhance his speed. Incapacitating Timchs fast and messily, he left him breathing but unconscious and whirled on Ebersol. His jump, as instantaneous as it was, lost him surprise. His boots hit the man and brought him down but even as they landed, a laser shot through the bones of his foot.

Roaring in pain, again letting it spur him on, he ignored the tech and reached for the throat. The sharp whine of the laser weapon sounded but before it could fire again, the weapon exploded.

As though they’d been woken from a spell, the remaining troopers began to shoot at him and the kid. Punching Ebersol in the temple, he got in their way. A few bullets got past him to lodge in the doorframe of the truck – far too close to her.

Victor spared Jubilee a look and grinned to see her hit her chains with fireworks. That hindrance broken in seconds, she took cover and began destroying weapons. Trying to dodge her shots won him more bullet holes, but he shrugged it off and kept opening them up until parts of them began to fall. When the last two broke and ran, catching them was laughably easy.

Turning back, he snarled to see the kid running for the cab of the truck. She got it started but before she could fuss with the rough gearshift, he simply reached down and picked up the front end of the truck.

They stared at each other through the windshield as the front-wheel drive spun the tires uselessly.

“Cut it off, kid, or I will.” When she slumped and turned off the ignition, hands up, he set the truck down. “Get outta there.”

She came out talking. “You got them all, got what you wanted – it’s been fun, huh? I helped you, dude, like a lot. Let me go home.”

“Tha two I really wanted ain’t dead.”

“They sure look it.”

“Yup – but they ain’t, an’ I need time an’ privacy t’ question ‘em. Get in tha back o’ tha truck.”

“See, main objective achieved, bait now pointless, going off somewhere private with you is mega super dumb – which I’m not.” She yelped when his bloody clawed fingers shot out to lightly grip her hair.

“Wasn’t dispensin’ options, Short Round.”

Wilting, she whispered, “I’d rather not suffocate in the dark.”

Victor used the hand gripping her hair turn her head. “See that bulb? Tha AC unit an’ vents? Ya won’t. This rig was outfitted t’ transport ya breathin’, probly with a guard. Tables turned now, with ya on guard. Move.” He backed her into it by her hair, only letting go when she began to step up. “We need t’ get outta here. Ya can have ‘nother shot at talkin’ me int’ lettin’ ya go at tha next stop.”

Backing up to lean on the wall farthest from him, she watched in horror as he picked up Ebersol and Timchs one at a time. Dropping their bloody and moaning bodies on the padded floor of the truck, he used their own provided shackles to truss them up. An extra chain around their necks let him cuff the hands against their faces so that if they struggled, they would begin to strangle.

“Sit down an’ grab some walls, shortcake – getaway cars don’t ride easy. Keep an eye on these asswipes, paf ‘em one if’n they try t’ fuck with ya.”

“Does that go for you, too?”

“What tha fuck do ya think?” he asked with a growling rumble under the words.

Victor grabbed the doors and prepared to shut them as Ebersol roused enough to glare at him. “Don’t take this course, Creed – it will go ill with you.”

Jubilee’s anger flared and to Victor’s surprise, she aimed it at the Nazi bastard bleeding at her feet. “Great, antagonize him more. You’re the moron he used me as bait to get. Now we’re all Little Friskies, dude.”

Grinning in at them, Victor closed and secured the doors. To the tune of sirens in the distance, he fired up the truck and drove away heading south, nice and slow, until he hit the first main road away from the bar: 12th Avenue and on down to West 30th Street.

_Gotta be tha garage – known turf full o’ tools, even if it’s a bit farther away. Can use the time t’ think. Maybe fer tha kid’s sake, I won’t hit every pothole I find – maybe._

~ ~ ~

Gatti’s Auto, the mechanic shop out in Chelsea near Hudson Yards where he had his favorite Cadillac serviced, was closed and empty. Fishing out the hidden key under a discarded and burned up engine block in the back, he moved the truck into one of the service bays.

As he turned it off and stepped out, all the smells of things he could play with were already assaulting his nose, including a barrel of waste oil and the chemicals of blowtorches and antifreeze. The array of tools hanging up or stowed around the garage were enough to make him drool with anticipation. Yet it was largely nothing more than a stage – which he quickly made ready for a performance he intended to play for Timchs. Just for fun, the brat could enjoy the show, too.

 _Wish I could torture these assholes fer tha intel I need t’ find even a sniff o’ Catalyst, but Ebersol obvs dunno zip ‘bout that an’ if’n Timchs knows squat, ‘is type don’t respond t’ torture anyhow. Cryin’ shame. Ebersol’s gonna die ugly though – fer payin’ t’ have Tony killed. Might could get news o’ where Hydra’s Science Division is holed up these days, but I doubt it. Fuck, I hate loyal fascist freaks. When tha cause is worth more’n their lives t’ ‘em, ain’t worth breakin’ a sweat t’ twist ‘em, really._ He unlocked and opened the doors at the back of the truck, smirking in at the trio of captives. “Time t’ play, boys.”

Hauling them out, he dumped them, chained and shackled, onto the concrete floor. Crooking a finger at her, he beckoned to the trembling ball of Jubilee.

“Got yer own chair again – know ya like that. Saved ya a front row seat.”

Since she didn’t want him to come in and get her, she slowly emerged from the truck, flinching when he gripped her waist and swung her down onto her feet.

“I helped you, Sabretooth,” she reminded him, “that should count for something.”

“Sure it does. Sit.” Pointing at her chair, he watched as she moved, trailing broken chains, to sit gingerly on it. “Don’t move an’ ya won’t get hurt.” For good measure, he grabbed the duct tape he’d spotted and pinned her arms, hands pointed behind her, to the metal chair.

Turning away, he picked the other two up by their chains and dropped them onto chairs facing each other, a good ten paces apart. He ran out of duct tape on Timchs, but Ebersol wouldn’t need as much of it for long.

Cracking his knuckles for effect, he picked up the hand torch he’d selected and fired it up with a low chuckle.

“This baby is a Bernzomatic series TS4000T, shuts off when ya release tha trim button, fires when ya push it again, so it don’t waste any gas. Aluminum, brass, an’ stainless steel – high output … I’d own one myself. Let’s get started – lots t’ talk ‘bout.”

The first time the propane-fueled flame touched Ebersol’s flesh, he screamed a bass line in counterpoint to the kid’s high-pitched shriek. Just in case, Victor took out the fancy metal tech with red lights that was mounted over his right eye and against his forehead. Melting it all together over that side of his face, he spared the left eye for effect.

Leaving the flame on, he used claws to cut away the clothing and set the torch to any metal he found over or under it. The temptation to keep any of the tech he wore and give it to Tony came and went fast. He had no idea if any of it could alert Hydra to their location and it wasn’t worth the risk. By the time it was melted and fused over smoking destroyed flesh, there wasn’t much left of the man that had wanted Tony dead.

“So much fer askin’ this one questions, huh? Funny thing is,” he told his horrified audience, “once tha real pain starts, most folks give up easy.”

Tears ran down the kid’s face. She hadn’t watched but hearing it probably hadn’t been a picnic, either. “Please stop – he won’t be able to tell you anything!”

Grinning over at her, he played with the button that sparked the flame on and off. “Don’t need this filth t’ talk, Short Round – already found out he dunno nothin’ I wanna hear.”

“Then why do that?”

“Cuz it’s fun, that’s why – an’ it’s a good example fer tha next guy.” Turning his head slowly to stare down at Timchs, he rasped, “Hiya, next guy.”

Timchs had coldly watched as he took his boss apart, physically and psychologically, bit by bit. He hadn’t missed the fact that Ebersol had made a gift of his life to their enemy.

Ebersol’s ruined voice gurgled to life again. Victor gave him his full attention. Blood from a bitten tongue dripped from his mouth as he struggled to speak.

“You make … a martyr of me while you gain … nothing, for I will give you nothing. The man you seek is dead. I die for a cause greater than Himmler’s, greater … than myself.”

“Martyr, is it? Yeah, I don’t think so. I ain’t stupid like ya assumed, see, an’ I gotta few things figged out on tha drive over here. Ya kept tryin’ t’ recruit Paganucci, tried t’ recruit me. Ya admitted ya want tha brat over there t’ give t’ some other asshole, a ‘potential friend’ ya wanna do biz with, a few hours drive away, wasn’t that it? Catalyst was tha boss o’ Hydra’s science geeks an’ he didn’t spend ‘is time playin’ two-bit goon out gatherin’ allies. So I think ya got demoted from yer fancy title – fer tha same reason ya want Stark dead. Yer not anywhere near ‘is class, Ebersol, an’ Hydra found that out.”

Growling, Victor released the button and set the torch aside. Slapping a palm down on that bald head, claws pricking it, he pushed it back to force the man to look up at him with one wide eye. Aiming a claw, he let it cut through the melted metal that had destroyed the other eye. Grinning at the fresh screams, his and the kid’s, he let the finger root around in there a bit. Pulling it free, he wiped it off on the hideously burned cheek under the remaining eye.

He glanced at the others and saw Timchs’s iron stare. The kid had her eyes clamped shut with tears running over clenched teeth. Odds were, she’d been dumb enough to look.

“They don’t throw out a good loyal fascist, though, so they gave ya a new job. What’d they call it – business development? Got ya drummin’ up membership an’ makin’ deals. They give ya a cool title, put soldiers under yer orders t’ help ya feel like a big man? Bet they let ya keep makin’ toys fer ‘em, too – but yer not talented ‘nuff at it t’ be worth keepin’ ya in their R an’ D groups, huh? Probly moved tha geeks’ HQ ya were at an’ changed tha locks. Yeah. They find a round hole fer their square pegs, they learned that from tha Nazis, too. Bottom line, motherfucker: ya weren’t good ‘nuff.”

“It does not matter. I am … only one of many. Hail Hydra…”

Snarling, his claws moved faster than breath as his free hand caved in the man’s sternum, half-cutting and half-smashing bones to grasp the slowing heart beneath.

Leaning over the carnage, Victor’s saliva dripped from fangs into the man’s open gagging mouth. “Hail me.” Yanking the organ out of the bloody hole, he bit into it and swallowed as he watched his enemy die.

For one red haze moment with hated blood in his throat and under his claws, it was hard not to slaughter all that watched. Forcing his breathing to slow and deepen, he pushed the impulse back down. Rejecting the idea of smashing Ebersol’s skull, he got a hand bloodier in the chest cavity and smacked it down on top of the bald head to leave a perfect handprint.

“Next best thing t’ signin’ tha bastard’s empty head,” he muttered in a low rasp.

Feeling the stare of Timchs, he stabbed claws into the chest to cut out small pieces of flesh. Holding them in one hand, the other pried his jaw open. Grinning fiercely, he dropped the scarlet gobbets in, shut the mouth and stroked the throat until it was all swallowed.

“Good dog.”

Choking and gagging as he strained against his chains and duct tape, Timchs struggled to speak. “May as well get on with it and kill me, freak. You know I won’t tell you a damn thing.”

“If’n ya throw that up, just gonna stuff more down ya.” Grabbing his chin, he made him look up at him. “Ain’t gonna be me ya give up yer secrets t’ though. I got tha best toys. Fer now, take a nap. Ya earned it.” He released his face and cold-cocked him in the head. It took two hits before he passed out. “Impressed in spite o’ myself. How ‘bout ya, Short Round?”

When he turned his head to look, she still had her eyes scrunched shut tight. Moving away from Timchs, he strolled around the girl. The little fists were clenched and trembling behind her chair. Her breath was short and sharp, the fear stink thick around her.

 _Puffy kitten thinks this is it. Maybe I gotta respectable compromise goin’ between killin’ ‘er an’ teachin’ ‘er a grab bag o’ really useful lessons._ Facing her again, he crossed his arms over his messy chest and frowned down at her. “Look at me, kid. Now.” She hesitated, so he threw in a goad. “Cowards hide from their last moments breathin’ – courageous folks like me an’ Logan, we watch it come at us. Which one are ya? With spine or without?”

Her blue eyes were red, wet, and full of hate and terror. “With.” She nearly spat the word at him.

“Paul Norbert Ebersol a.k.a. tha Fixer used t’ be an auto mechanic, native o’ Dayton, Ohio.”

“Why do I care? Hydra scum is what he … was…”

“Was is damn right. Good answer. Ya should care, kid. He’s an example o’ how far bad a person can go.”

“You’re example enough without him.”

“True ‘nuff, gotta give ya that.”

“It was all lies, back at that scummy bar – telling him you’d sell me to him. Dude, we both know you wouldn’t do that.”

“We jawed ‘bout this back there, why bring it up here? I could still sell ya t’ ‘is buyer myself – gotta fuckin’ great guess who it is.”

“You won’t do that. You don’t want to.”

“Yeah? What makes ya think that?” He crouched in front of her with claws out, wrists on his knees.

“If some other jerk was gonna plug me, you wouldn’t let it be them and not you.” She swallowed hard. “You don’t want to kill me, though.”

“I don’t?” His smirk curled and stretched.

“Nope.”

“Amuse me, shortcake. Why don’t I?”

“Because you miss Tabitha – and if you killed me, she’d miss me. So … um…”

Her name pierced him and it took all he had not to show it. _Fuck me runnin’, tha kid’s callin’ my bluff again – brass balls, that. Wouldn’t feed ‘er head-first t’ Sinister anyhow – done with that shit. Can’t let ‘er off without one more good spook though, gotta rep t’ protect._ “I do want somethin’ from ya.”

Reaching out with blood dripping here and there from his claws, he locked stares with her as he let the red tips scratch her belt.

“Please don’t,” she whispered.

Her small body was as taut as it could get without breaking something. Just before she screamed, he tapped the belt pouch zipper with a claw tip. “Want my checks. At least one o’ ‘em needs t’ be cashed damn quick.”

“Wha-what?”

Grinning, he reached around her, warm breath at her throat, and sliced the gray tape to free her hands. He managed it without a scratch by scents alone.

Standing, he watched her fumble to open the zipper with shaking fingers. When she handed both checks over, he walked off to put them by the shop phone on Arturo Gatti’s desk in the office at the back. He leaned on the doorframe to watch as she fought with the remains of the tape and shot colorful plasmoids at the shackles.

The kid moved gingerly through the shop to approach him, probably more to get away from the men still bound to chairs rather than any desire to be close to him. She got to the counter in front of the office and stopped.

“Now what?” Her glare was kind of cute, to be honest. He could almost hear the hiss.

With a snort, he turned and grabbed the phone receiver, dialing quickly. Raul was good at picking up weird cues on the fly. Pretending he was a cabby was kid’s play. Keeping an eye on her, he sounded casual when his driver picked up.

“Yellow Cab, gotta fare fer ya. West 30th Street, Gatti’s Auto – shop near Hudson Yards. She’s goin’ up t’ Westchester, bar in Salem Center called tha Auger Inn. I’m buyin’; tha faster ya get here, tha bigger tha tip.” Setting the receiver down, he retracted his claws and stuffed his fingertips into his jeans pockets. “T’ quote Dr. Frank-N-Furter, ‘Well, how ‘bout that.’”

“Um, ‘kay … thanks. Why the Auger Inn?”

“Close ‘nuff by half. If’n ya ain’t never been in tha joint, just tell ‘em yer Logan’s. They’ll let ya use their phone t’ call home.”

She nearly snapped out a retort but wisely retracted it. “Yeah, close enough.”

“C’mon, out – lessen ya really enjoy tha ambiance in here.”

He led the way out to the street and she followed, gobsmacked into a rare silence. The sky was lightening around them. Logan’s favorite roughtrade biker bar was closed now, but by the time she arrived, someone would be there. After all the gumption the girl had shown, he had no doubt she could find her way home once he got her that far.

Victor moved to the white painted brick wall and leaned his shoulders on it, arms crossed again. He was full of lead and it had to come out. The jeans were holding up, but the dress shirt was in tatters and he was smeared with enough blood to draw unwanted attention. His foot had healed, but grit had gotten into the boot through the bullet hole.

Silent and still, he watched Jubilee stand and fidget. _Raul’s gotta pick up tha fake cab first, but he shouldn’t take too long. Once she’s outta my hair, I can get Timchs out an’ ship ‘im up t’ Montreal. Then food, bullet extractions, somethin’ t’ fuck, an’ sleep – in that order. Might could be worth waitin’ ‘til I get there fer tha fuck, though. Mmm…_

“Could that be it?” the kid asked in a small I-can’t-believe-it voice.

Turning his head, he sniffed and watched the approaching taxi. “Probly.”

They both tracked it until it pulled up at the curb. Raul sat at the wheel cool as ever and managed not to look as surprised as the kid that he was letting her go in one piece.

When he moved, so did she. Heading straight for the back door, she hopped in and closed it. Victor went to the driver’s door as Raul put the window down. “Bill me, huh? Ya know tha name.”

“Yes, sir – of course, no problem. Happy to be of service.”

He gave the roof a pat and stepped out of the way. Back on the sidewalk, he waited.

Jubilee rolled her window down and looked out at him. “Dude – seriously – thanks. I’d tell Tabitha you say hi, but … it might upset her? Unless … you want me to, say that.”

“Don’t bother. Had us an interestin’ walk on tha wildside, kid. Tha flipside o’ bein’ a predator pretty much blows goats, but ya never lemme get bored, huh? Give Wolvie a wet smooch fer me – if’n ya ever see tha cur again.”

“Um… Right.” She dug out her gum and popped a piece in. The fruity sweet scent wafted to him on the morning breeze. “D’know if it matters ... but yeah… Thanks, ‘Tooth.”

Victor smirked and gave her a nod. The nickname was something Hank McCoy often called him. She was a sponge, soaking up the bullshit of her elders just like the rest of them. He watched the taxi until it turned a corner out of sight. Within it, she was still watching him, too.

“Shake it off, asshole,” he muttered under his breath, “gotta clean up tha shop before tha crew gets in – promises an’ all.”

Back inside, he used their phone again to call his bank. Once he gave his name, he was patched through to a representative that could handle anything.

“Need tha removers. Gatti’s Auto.”

Once the order was acknowledged, he hung up. While he waited for the team to arrive, he borrowed some paper and a pen from the counter and scrawled a note to Arturo about the truck. They could cut it up for parts without a trace.

Timchs was still out, and what was left of Ebersol was worthy of being recorded. He’d have the cleaners snap a few photos for him before they did their thing.

 _Guess I’ll just catch a ride with ‘em back t’ tha bank, too. Fuck, I’m hungry._ Glancing over at the Hydra boss’s corpse, he shrugged and chuckled. _Hair o’ tha dog it is._

Humming as he returned to his kill, he broke into his ragtag baritone and let the song stuck in his head come on out.

 _Tim Curry would wince, maybe – eh, don’t care._ “Well, ya got caught with a flat! Well, how ‘bout that? Well, babies, don’t ya panic! By tha light o’ tha night, it’ll all seem awright! I’ll get ya a satanic mechanic!”

~ ~ ~

Victor settled as still as he could manage on the metal sheet Araunya had spread with her magnetism talent over his bed in the bank suite. He had eaten well and slept until she arrived. He liked to watch her work the metal; that particular power held a morbid fascination for him.

Sometimes he worried about her continued loyalty, knowing what she could do against him if someone got to her. Yet she wasn’t the sort of person anyone could persuade with bribes. Lenusya had called it a long time ago – the girl was too zen for the machinations of his enemies. Also, she was paid better by him and Obinata, and allowed to take other clients as she wished. He’d heard that sometimes she didn’t charge them at all beyond some hippie thing about paying it forward. Lenusya had also called her incorruptible. He generally scoffed at that but so far, she’d been proven right.

They had done this many times, yet ever since she’d had help with the aftercare upstate, he hadn’t spoken to her much. The slender black-haired gypsy girl wasn’t a chatterbox, either. Back then, in his room in a brothel, she had spoken more to the nervous traumatized blonde who had wanted to help massage oils into his skin after Araunya had yanked the bullets back out through it.

This time, plagued by that loss, he struggled to be calm when the time came. It didn’t matter. As she lifted his body by controlling the metal on his bones, he couldn’t easily move at all. He had never wanted to see if he could break her hold – half afraid to find out if he couldn’t. The idea that such a tiny thing wrapped in beige and green cotton could hold him down with a thought was enough to rattle the beast within.

He gritted his teeth when the other tug hit him all over. How she could hold the Adamantium while tearing the bullets out, how she knew the difference, was a mystery to him. He growled and snarled through the pain, trying to control himself even half as well as she was.

The abrupt scattered pattering of crushed bullets striking the metal sheet made his pointed ears pin down harder. They didn’t roll on it – they were absorbed instantly into it. She held him up a few minutes longer to give the healing factor a chance to begin its work without his weight or movement hindering it. Once he was lowered to the metal, he felt her power release him and grip the sheet instead.

Using a hand to roll as it retracted into itself from underneath, he ended up on his belly. He rested there trying to slow his breathing as the healing buzzed throughout his body. It could be soothing and painful at once if he was fed enough prior to fuel it. Exhausted by all the insanity he’d gone through with the brat in tow, he almost napped out.

A tink of glass bottles woke him but he didn’t turn his head to look. She was getting into her fancy collection of massage oils in the wooden case that was older than she was.

“Sage,” he muttered, knowing she would ask. “An’ … lavender.”

Wordless and respectful, she obliged and used both. Smooth strong hands, warmed oils, and a rough square of terrycloth worked to clean away blood left by the path of the extracted bullets. The massage and the oils helped sooth the trauma of violence from the muscles and skin.

Flashing through his mind was the image of sweet Bonnie, unafraid and full of wonder – with the scent of lavender oil warmed by her beautiful breasts and hands all around them as she had helped to care for him. The loss still haunted him, but he couldn’t afford to indulge it. He would only end up trying to think of ways to change it and a far deeper horror lurked behind every open or locked door along that path.

Casting about for a distraction, he remembered other things Lenusya had told him about this girl, more recently.

“Heard ‘bout yer ma,” he spoke into his folded forearms. “Was sorry t’ hear that.”

The skilled hands paused for only a breath of hesitation. “Thank you. She is at peace, now.”

Her light soprano voice always reminded him of a bright spring day. Everything about her smelled clean, except for the metal sheet that reeked of lead, brass, and blood.

 _Peace. Was Bonnie at peace?_ “She died,” he said, his voice low and flat. “Bonnie. She was … sick. Those … things, what she was runnin’ from, they poisoned ‘er.”

“I am sorry. She had a warm and sweet aura.”

Victor sighed. “Nobody that shoulda been with tha likes o’ me, anyhow.”

“I would say she had an edge to her, though – she seemed … like she fit.”

 _Fit every dream I never dared t’ want … but dead’s dead and should … stay that way._ All he said was a muttered, “Yeah, maybe.” He rolled to his back when she asked but closed his eyes as she continued to work. He couldn’t quite manage to pretend she was Bonnie. _My girl woulda gone fer tha goods._ His light growl didn’t make Araunya pause. _Wish I could dig up or haul up those freak zombie bastards just t’ kill ‘em again._

She went for more oil once and he noticed she wasn’t even wearing shoes. What appeared to be sandal straps were only stones on hemp twine, circling the thin ankles and looping around the big toes. She never wore leather. He watched her return, glistening hands dripping over his thigh, and tried to relax as he studied her pretty face.

“Some folks I know would call ya an old soul. Seems easy sometimes t’ talk t’ ya – easy not t’, too. Ain’t been real chatty. Just knowin’ ya met ‘er…”

“There is a quote by Maya Angelou from _When I Think of Death_. At the end, she says, I find it impossible to let a friend or relative go into that country of no return. Disbelief becomes my close companion, and anger follows in its wake. I answer the heroic question, ‘Death, where is thy sting?’ with ‘it is here in my heart and mind and memories.’”

Victor was silent until she finished the massage and moved away. “I read some o’ ‘er caged bird stuff before,” he muttered. “An’ yeah, feels like that – fer tha ones I lost.”

She wiped her hands clean on another cloth, packed up the case, and gave him a soft and sad smile. “Living as long as you will, I hope you find many and lose no more of them. I wish you peace, Mr. Creed.”

Gathering up her things, she left. The silence gathered around him in the mostly soundproofed suite. He didn’t move except to roll to his side. Eventually, he did drift off to sleep. Hoping to dodge the worst of his most common nightmares, he focused his thoughts on the beautiful nude body of Tony Stark and attempted to bend lucid dreaming into giving him his lover. It worked for a while before the terror and darkness rose up again to claim him.

When he woke with a snarling slash of sheets, he growled and struggled out of the bed. In a rush to leave New York behind, he skipped the shower and dressed in street clothes that were stored there. Retrieving his wallet and phone from the safe, he called Raul to take him to JFK to meet his pilot.

Just before he left the suite, he noticed that the cleaning lady had wiped away his bloody hand prints from the window.

_Wonder if’n she decided ‘erself or if Obinata said t’ do it?_

~ ~ ~

On the drive, he asked about the brat and smirked to hear she had talked the man’s ears off the whole trip up to Salem Center. Raul had managed to keep her thinking he was only a taxi driver with no real connection to Victor.

“That kid was entertainin’, no lie – quite a scrapper, too.”

He fell silent for the rest of the trip, trying to keep his spirits up, but it was a challenge. Tony still hadn’t called but he knew he wasn’t ready to abandon that hope.

_Glutton fer punishment. Yer an expert at takin’ it, not just dishin’ it out._

Slumping in the backseat of one of the bank’s Bentleys, he watched splashes of the Big Apple go by, so different now than when he’d first come here. Time weighed him down, pressing in like a knife to the throat of everything he cared about, while leaving him to wallow in a wasteland that never stopped changing.

With a low growl, he turned his back on all of it. He didn’t deny the truth, but he was trying to learn to savor things – as Michel had attempted to teach him so long ago in the Yukon.

_Some day I’ll lose Tony too – one way or ‘nother – but not yet. We got time. We ain’t done yet._

Thoughts going in circles, he was grateful to finally park near his jet. Zane came out to greet him as Raul opened his door.

“Vermont gig, Montreal, and then Brazil or that thing in Phoenix?” Zane asked as they boarded the jet.

Victor sat in his favorite seat by the window and sighed. “Phoenix is pushed back, so Vermont. Stick close, though – ain’t gonna take long an’ won’t be stayin’ overnight. My entertainment got there?”

“He did – trussed up and ready to play. Another dirty pedophile, right?”

“That’s right – ‘is own baby sister, probly others. Marie Dearman – I broke daddy dearest’s neck fer ‘er in what’s gonna be my new house.” He stretched his legs out. “After the job, wanna come along an’ watch this time? Nice an’ private – ya could even lend a fist if’n ya wanted.”

“I do.” He didn’t need to see the pilot’s grin to appreciate it. “Appalachians or Montreal after? Mr. Obinata said he moved Montreal back, so you have time. Brazil is on track, though.”

“Swap ‘em, I can play in tha mountains chasin’ banjo freaks on tha way back down – gotta date in Montreal an’ extra time fer it prior to Brazil suits me fine. That asshole Timchs is headed there, too; finely got that bastard.”

“Happy to hear it, Boss. Break a leg for me.”

~ ~ ~

In the heart of Montreal’s Quartier international, at the restaurant Toqué, Victor managed not to get any of the fancy foie gras terrine on his bespoke suit or burgundy silk tie. His companion’s gaze still lingered on the double-breasted finery of herringbone tweed in olive green with burgundy check pattern. The crisp white linen shirt was still white, too, though he was tempted to loosen the tie and the collar.

Shaul Yahalom turned his head to smile at the waiter, signaling that they were ready for the next course: venison loin with a pile of hard-to-pronounce sauces and veggies for the lawyer, rack of pig loin sans veggies for the feral.

The young mutant had styled his thick black hair in romantic and dramatic waves that almost touched the shoulders of his bespoke suit – a satin floral jacquard in burgundy with roses all over it. The shirt was matte black, the tie a shiny satin the color of fresh blood. He was painfully handsome and had the attention of everyone in the restaurant – even without using his talents on them. When the mischievous gray eyes behind the red-tinted rectangular glasses met his, Victor’s pants tightened again.

“We should get your brown butter Bavarian cream to go – to use later when you fuck me.” The heat came off him in waves far more lustrous than his hair.

“Later, is it? Keep that shit up an’ I’m gonna be fuckin’ ya over yer fancy hunk o’ Bambi.”

“Hmm, just don’t spill the wine.”

Sipping the Bordeaux, a Pauillac 1995, Château Lefite Rothschild that went for $3,356 a glass, his smile warmed at the taste of black currants, violets and vanilla. The spicy oaky scent of it blended with the rest to fill his senses and place him willingly in the palm of that delicate yet strong pale hand.

Picking up his glass, he downed it like cheap swill just to avoid carrying out the threat right then and there.

“Watching you devastate fine things with all the cultured finesse of a longshoreman isn’t going to tamp down my lust, you realize.”

A trio of waiters arrived with the next round of fine grub and one of them refilled Victor’s glass. He dug into the pork in self-defense, only using utensils to spare his attire.

He had dessert at the table, wouldn’t allow Shaul to whammy the staff to make the meal free, paid for everything, and got him out of there as fast as he could before he popped. His regret for agreeing to drive the lawyer’s car ended after he got the new 2004 black Ferrari F360 Spider F-1 convertible on the road. The car was magnificent, but the grip of the hand rubbing and teasing his trapped cock was enough to make him risk breaking a lot more than the speed limit.

When they reached the lawyer’s house at 9 l’Orée-du-Bois Est in Verdun, Montreal, a decent pad at $12 million, Victor managed to park the car in the garage without sending it through the glass wall of the connecting wine cellar. Once they got into the house, they left a trail of bespoke castoffs that led upstairs to the master bedroom.

The fireplace that was open to the bedroom and sitting room was blazing, warming air that the air conditioning had previously chilled. The scent of the servant was fresh, but she wasn’t in the house now. The rooms were a blur of hardwoods, cream and sage colors, and Mediterranean décor. Through the wood frame and glass wall to the balcony, he could still see stars shining.

Far more enticing than the windows was the scent of the glass plug the young man had held sunk in his body all through dinner. Decorated by real diamonds, it flashed at him as the lithe athletic body climbed onto the center of the high four-poster bed. He still wore the glasses, but Victor planned to leave those alone – just in case. His immunity to telepathic powers wasn’t something he wanted to test tonight and the glasses helped Shaul tamp down his gifts so that he could make others obey rather than turn their brains into soup.

Pushing him up against the piled pillows, his fingers reached to slowly pull out the plug. Dropping it on the foot of the bed, he stuffed his stiff cock in its place the moment after those soft hands slicked it for him.

Victor curled around him to reach his mouth as he pumped hard, ramped up by the wait and teasing. He hadn’t come since the Beekman hotel, just to save it for this one.

Keeping his cock roughly urgent but his mouth gentle was a trick, but it was worth it to illicit the responses and noises he got. He came fast and shoved it deep, letting his roar make the glass rattle.

“Stay inside, kiss me again.”

“Ya know we got time, fer once. Gonna fuck ya as much as ya want, but it ain’t a race.”

“Mmm,” he almost purred, “Perhaps, but I know you – as soon as that Russian grunt is delivered, you’ll be all business.”

“Shoulda been here already.”

“I told them to aim for tomorrow.” The hot mouth on his got him going again in no time.

“Once yer done with ‘im,” Victor whispered between passionate kisses, “want ya t’ – help me kill it. Gonna hafta anyhow.”

“I thought we hated him due to his fascist Nazi wannabe hobby? Why the regretful tone?”

“Knew ‘is pa, respected tha man.”

“You killed his father, Victor.”

“Don’t change tha fact.”

Shaul’s laugh was sweet and slightly wicked. “You are delicious.”

He caught Victor’s bottom lip in his perfect teeth and bit it before kissing away the sting. The pretty head tilted until the glasses nearly slipped down his nose. A flash of randy mischief from those dangerous beautiful eyes ran a shiver down his spine as the brush of hackles lifted.

Victor smiled at him, the corners of it curling into a smirk. “Remind me why I don’t fuck ya on tha regular?”

“Because you don’t have a monogamous bone in your body, and I prefer not to share. You are a rare treat between boyfriends, which is a spot I currently happen to be in.”

“All yer talents an’ ya can’t keep a man ‘round long as ya want?”

The pout that got him sparked a growl of lust and he began a lazy thrusting rhythm.

“I’ve done that, it gets old. The larger challenge is to win one and keep him without turning him into a love slave. This – real and raw passion – is what I want.”

Victor slowed his pace more and kissed him gently as thoughts of Tony slipped in. He couldn’t answer with words so he used his body instead.

~ ~ ~

Revilo Timchs sagged on his knees on the concrete of the garage floor, unbound in his black boxers and bleeding from many cuts. The knife he held in his hand shook as he trembled. He’d spilled his guts about anything he knew in the first fifteen minutes, but it was longer than most subjects had ever held out under that cold gray stare.

His confessions and bits of knowledge mixed with rumor hadn’t been that helpful, though – he was only a grunt leading lesser grunts, after all. They took orders without question.

Shaul stood there in scarlet silk pajama bottoms and bare feet. His arms were crossed over that sculpted bare torso as one finger pushed the glasses back over his eyes.

“So a ‘better man’ claimed Ebersol’s spot, but this lump has no idea who that man is.”

“He said it could be Catalyst – or whatever tha freak’s callin’ ‘isself these days.”

“That was a guess tantamount to a lie – I watched him work it out in that mess of an anti-Semitic and racist brain.”

“A guess cuz he dunno if’n it’s Catalyst or not,” Victor muttered. Scowling at the raised eyebrow that won him, he growled. “Wishful fuckin’ thinkin’ or not, I’m still at a dead end.”

“Well, at least he confirmed that you were right about Ebersol being knocked out of that job. If you manage to get a shot at the new boss of their science and tech department, perhaps that person would know – if it’s not the man you want.”

“If’n I get that shot, I’ll take it. Least I got tha chance t’ thin their nasty ranks some.”

“Always a fine use of your time. Shall I end him for you or do you wish to?”

Victor waited for rage and revenge to rise in his blood, but it wouldn’t come. “Tell ya what – let’s use ‘im t’ make more PR headaches fer Hydra. Plant a suggestion – make ‘im go loony somewhere that’ll get him turned int’ a lead magnet fer cops. Shoutin’ ‘is bloody fuckin’ hail Hydras an’ shit. Go nuts. Just make sure they kill tha bastard. I don’t feel like bloodyin’ my claws on this one.”

“As you wish. What about you? Back to the salt mines?”

Victor frowned and then snarled. “Gotta work my way down t’ Brazil then all tha way back t’ Phoenix t’ play pitbull fer an annoyin’ li’l Italian prick who snookered me at poker.”

“Well, that’s a short list. How’d he manage that?”

“He played it like an idiot an’ got me t’ buy it. Plus, I had a class A distraction goin’ in tha form o’ a brat kid – tha one I used fer baitin’ Ebersol.”

“Oh yes, Jubilation Lee. I have to say I mind that one less than most of them. I’m surprised you didn’t just kill her.”

“Me, too. Couldn’t do it, though – Tabitha likes tha yappy scrap.”

“I see.” He stepped up and took Victor’s hand, lacing fingers while mindful of the claws. “I’ve changed my mind – my ex-boyfriend’s jogging pants are all wrong for you. We should go back upstairs and get you out of them.”

“What ‘bout tha fascist asshole?”

Shaul turned slightly, dragged the glasses down again and stared into the bloody man’s red-rimmed eyes. “He has something to get gunned down for. Don’t you?”

Timchs rose like a zombie, the gory knife he’d been forced to torture himself with still clutched in his fist. His eyes were vacant, yet somehow haunted. Without noticing them, he turned and headed for the outer garage door.

“Close that on the way out,” the pretty mutant admonished. “Now, where were we?” He pouted his lips as Victor nudged the glasses up himself. “Oh yes – fucking, while I still have you. Come along...”

Victor suppressed a shudder as he looked back to watch Timchs close the door and shuffle off. “He gonna kill anybody?”

“Of course not. When he doesn’t drop the knife and starts raving like a rabid Nazi, they’ll have no choice. Such a non-shame.” Releasing Victor’s hand, he walked off.

Swallowing hard, Victor turned away and followed. Watching the beguiling sylph head up the stairs ahead of him, he was reminded why he didn’t bed him that often.

_Useful when they’re mine but still – those brain-fuckers gimme tha creeps, even so._

~ ~ ~

By the time he was chasing white-tailed deer through the spruce-fir forest on the Tennessee side of Clingmans Dome, he realized he had finally beaten the latest bout of self-destructive depression. Letting his prey escape when he scented water, he loped off to the bank of the Little River on the borders of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

Wading into the river, he sat on a rock near its center and let the water rush over his clawed bare feet. The sun was warm and the sounds and scents of rushing water and nature all around soothed him.

 _It’s good t’ get back t’ … me._ Thinking of everything that had happened since the most recent gloom had fallen over him, one bright colorful spark outshone everything else – the brat, Jubilee. _Tearin’ up tha Big Apple with that noisy scrap o’ a thing was … fun. Damn if’n she didn’t have a sparkly hand in turnin’ my frown upside down._

He couldn’t begin to imagine what she might be doing at that moment while he was running naked along the Appalachian Trail – going to math class or fighting whatever Cueball pointed his flying monkeys at – but whatever it was, he hoped she was giving somebody as much hell as she’d given him.

_Keep ‘em on their toes, Short Round – make ‘em regret tha day they ever gave ya any lip. That’s tha only way t’ fuckin’ live._

Hearing a fresh sound, a stamp on the earth and a swish through the brush, he rose and slipped from the water to the other side. Prey was there, alerted to his presence. The scents excited him for the chase as they began to run. Launching after them, he let out a roar and grinned at the terrified clatter of birds streaking up from the trees. A light wind gave the deer his scent as it tangled his long blond hair. The thunder of hooves down the next slope beat in time with his heart as his claws sent last year’s leaves flying up in his wake.

**FINI.**

(Sabretooth will return in the IronTooth story _Crawfish Tango_.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A large hunk of the poker game, including some dialogue for getting terms correct, was borrowed from "James Bond: Casino Royale". If you watch the end of the big poker game, Ebersol is taking the place of Infante, Victor is in the villain Le Chiffre’s spot, and Paganucci is in Bond’s spot. Victor’s friends Frank and John refer to Frank Payne (Frank Schlichting) a.k.a. the Constrictor, and John Greycrow a.k.a. Scalphunter. Mags is of course Magneto, a man Victor appears to like and may even respect.
> 
> The auto shop I’m borrowing the address of exists, but I didn’t want to use their real name. I’m calling it Gatti’s Auto, owner Arturo Gatti. He’s an original character, but I got his name from a boxer of Italian and Canadian origins. “Arturo” is a form of the name Arthur. I haven’t written any scenes with him yet, but I want to, eventually. Araunya is another original character from my "Overdrive" fic, the gyspy girl with magnetism powers similar to Magneto but nowhere near his power level. She’s a peace/love non-violent type, so she uses her power to remove bullets for people who can’t go to a hospital. She also works as a masseuse for Victor after bullet extractions. She started out working just for him, but now she has many clients and travels to help them.
> 
> Victor is singing the song "Sweet Transvestite" from "The Rocky Horror Picture Show". Tim Curry is the singer, as the luscious Dr. Frank-N-Furter. The “caged bird stuff” of Maya Angelou refers to her autobiographical works, "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings". That title is from a line in Paul Laurence Dunbar’s poem "Sympathy". Bambi the deer belongs to Disney.
> 
> Lenusya, Obinata, Raul, Araunya, and Shaul are a few of my original characters. Victor needed some allies, so I invented some. I just love writing him running naked in the woods, too. Thanks for reading! - AnonGrimm (@MET_Fic)


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